Unsolved

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀   ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . 𐙚

We spend far too much time , worrying about being perceived.

Art evolves, changes , becomes

And so do we.

How others perceive you is not who you really are.

It is just an interpretation of blood and bones they do not really find worth understanding.

You cannot share your pain with everyone,

It’s burdening, and the grief we carry on our sleeve can never be studied the way we want it to be.

So we avoid getting it tasted.

We are caged because of our thoughts not our circumstances.

I often wonder about what is it that keeps one truly alive and going.

For me it is the emotions.

The poems sent to me by universe to make everything seem kinder.

The ones with whom my roots will always be tangled.

We grow up awfully hungry for love.

I think in the end all we need is a gaze to undo the puzzle inside of us , to not be frozen to death by a wound caused by something much greater than a physical anomaly.

All the other distractions are just a mockery to what the heart really yearns for.

I find it rather concerning how at every corner , you have misery and tragedy lurking over you , how every sip of coffee you take to feel awake can end up being poison that brings you a tad bit closer to suffocating, and how every book you put your hands on can end before it gets a chance to start.

The soil gets a whiff of us before anyone else.

And well for my beautiful mother ,

I wish i could turn every tear of hers that touches the ground into flowers that bloom for eternity.

I find everything so beyond painful.

Like im drowning amongst a sea of people ,

Vision blurry and hazy ,

The blues turning into reds,

Like im speaking the same language as you yet you cannot understand me.

And when i observe you,

i often wonder who exactly it is that you are observing.

          —Prachi