Portraits of self love

There were loads of anticipation as to who I would be when I grow up.

A woman,

A weak woman,

A miserable woman,

A bullied woman,

A rich woman,

A dignified woman,

A suave woman,

A lady,

A truce in the path of solitude

A warrior woman,

A mother,

A quoted wife of an ordinary man, scared, bullying, forging, a fraud.

An epitome of perfection for a well reserved dignified man, respectful, less wormlike, more like a reverie.

A saint with no desires.

A monk with subdued desires, a monk who understands desires too well to practise it.

People who do wrong, who choose wrongly, who does anything is greatly impacted by the point wherein they do not understand the wrong they are doing, the havoc they are wreaking.

Thus, Jesus said “forgive them for they know not what they are doing.”

A balanced woman, the pointer of society.

But then all I have become is just me. Me..Me…Me…

When men try to collide they find vapour,

When woman try to collide they find ice.

So none understands me and

I wish to keep it that way.

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