THIS THING CALLED ANGER....

As a 10 year old, I was the “angry young girl”. I could get very angry and the trail of destruction that followed….. my erstwhile classmates loathed me for it. Otherwise I was pretty awesome :grins:

A decade later things are not quite the same. Yes, I do get angry at times but the pattern has changed. Very few people can make me angry. I have a set of unwritten rules which when violated drive me crazily angry. ( I can smile genuinely when a stranger or not-so-known person criticizes me for the wrong reasons. Apparently, when I think so). And they always happen to be my closest pals. It takes me a long time to build up anguish. At an optimal point, I burst out at the slightest of provocation from the same person. I might not shout, yet I know silence is the greatest killer. Usually it takes me long to cool down. Sometimes I hold grudges for a long time. I find it tough to let it go. The ones I fall out with rarely find their way back into my good books. I never regret their loss. I’m better off without them.

Maybe some years later I’ll learn that art too. To let go. To forgive and forget. Till then, the world has to bear with the “angry young girl”.

P.S. : This post is not to glorify my anger management policies. It is just about how I deal with anger.

ILLUSIONS OF REALITY...

The more you point out my mistakes, The more you are drawn towards me. The more you try to hurt me, The more you bleed in your heart. The more you run away from me, The more my memories haunt you. The more you want to forget me, The more you are reminded of my presence. The more you want to chase me away, The closer I come to you. The more you hate me, The more you end up loving me. The more you call me an “illusion” The more I dawn as the reality of your life….

A C R O S T I C

A s I was walking , C hoosing the hues of life, R ainclouds made an appearance O n the sunny sky above. S cuttling through untrodden paths, T he narrow bylanes,not a soul around, I was indeed lost - Drops of rain C hased me - but Ahoy! a way was found. P.S. :My first attempt on acrostic poetry.Hope my readers will like it. To know more about acrostics,click the link given. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acrostic

CONFESSION OF A WOMAN...

When I'm born,I'm jeered at.When I'm a child,I'm made to believe that my reason for existence is somebody else.While I'm growing up,I'm discouraged to question.My brain and heart are numbed.I cannot die too,since it will bring infamity to my family.People would say,"At this age,what could have forced her to terminate herself ? She failed to materialize her fantasy.Such bad morals." I fast for the well-being of my father and brothers.When I outgrow my frocks,I'm let off to another household.There, I work for others, without pay.I have children but they treat me like a door-mat.Here too,I fast for my husband's and childrens' long,peaceful life.When the man of the house,who happens to be my "husband" dies,I shed a part of my soul.I have no right to live then,I just breathe and sit in a corner.Rest of my life is spent in praying-for death.They say, "Woman needs a man.In childhood,its father.In youth,its husband and in old age,i...

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