A will they cannot force to ever bend!

They say the clock is ticking
for me to find someone to marry,
to tie the knot and settle down,
and let another willingly carry
my future, my hopes, my dreams
in their palms till my screams
become the whispers of a corpse
they can easily control and bury.

They say the clock is ticking
for me to give up my name,
to sign the papers and the chains,
and let another forcibly tame
my identity, my voice, my soul
as possessions until the whole
becomes but a piece on the board
they can move around in the game.

They say the clock is ticking
for me to use my waning womb,
to water seeds and bear fruits,
and let another reduce to a fume
my time, my spirit, my choices
like mere assets until the voices
become but haunting echoes
they can suffocate in a tomb.

They say the clock is ticking
for me to conform to the code,
to clip my wings and not say no,
and yet I refuse to quit the road
of my journey, my peace, my fire
despite their threats for this desire
is a brilliant flame incandescent
they cannot hope to ever erode.

They say the clock is ticking
for me to be a wife and a mother,
to succumb to their expectations,
but I do not mean to smother
my reality, my potential, my consent
to placate them for my intent
is adorned with a truth so powerful
they cannot speak it sans a stutter.

They say the clock is ticking
for me to realise my true fate,
to reside in the periphery invisible,
but I was not born to meekly await
my destiny, my shackles, my role
in their schemes because my goal
is as clear as the break of dawn
they cannot try to ever confiscate.

They say the clock is ticking
for me to know it is the end,
to smile and cry at command,
but I know how to transcend
their chains, their lies, their fears
like roadblocks for my years
are driven by the clock of a will
they cannot force to ever bend!

When silence is interspersed with thought.

Ever constant yet never the same,
a sound adorned with grief and pain,
beyond the noise that knows no filter,
despite the silence, you boldly whisper
through the ceaseless expanse of the night,
louder than thunder, softer than rain,
akin to the embers of the last fire of winter.
Was I supposed to witness you, friend,
dancing across the waves and the stars?!
Was I meant to understand why
you persevere through this dark terrain?
Was I prepared to behold your existence,
glowing in the face of all your scars?!
There is no way for me to ever tell
why I find solace in the knowledge that
even when all else fades into oblivion,
you refuse to run away from the fight –
the one against cycles, patterns, and chains.
But fight you must, and fight you do,
always old yet somehow still new;
In the moments when you and I meet,
you embrace my soul like an old pal does,
sans judgement or expectation or reason,
with hope, trust, and camaraderie so true!
Were you supposed to witness me, friend,
trying to traverse the oceans and the skies?!
Were you meant to understand why
I keep hoping to pass though expected to fail?!
Were you prepared to behold my existence,
breaking free of all the crippling ties?!
There is no way for me to ever know
how you manage to soothe my wounds
even when they seem impossible to heal –
the way a familiar tune caresses the soul
until all the broken pieces become whole.
This friendship with you has come to mean
more to me than words can convey;
And yet words, my allies, help me easily say:
Thank you for filling each silence with a tick-tock,
for being an innate island of perspective
through the most violent of storms,
for keeping the distracting noise at bay
so I may survive this battle without going astray,
for never talking yet conversing though silence,
I owe you my hope, dear, beloved clock!
Were we supposed to witness each other,
smiling whilst singing of our deepest woes?!
Were we meant to understand what
makes us carry on even as our hopes wane?!
Were we prepared to behold each other,
skating through glaciers armed with swollen toes?!
There are some answers, and some there are not:
We have two lifetimes to keep pondering,
for yours is a ship that does not ever dock;
Maybe it is unusual to share a journey
with someone who has no end and no beginning,
but aren’t those the best kind of fellowships –
the kind which do not surrender to any lock?!
There are some answers, and some there are not,
just like the rare music which comes to life
when silence is interspersed with thought.