My own hero

I clench my fists, I pretend to punch through cemented walls. I scream all over my cushions, I roll my blankets and pound them on the floor. I have my glory days, I dust them off as the rain washes it all away. I learn lessons of accomplishment and enrichment every single time I come to terms with everything the way it is, all brewing storms within, all dancing to celebrations dressed in decorated drapes as I smile for pictures.

I try to dive deep within, I charter courses along waters that know of no limit, are deep, are tempting and are savouring.

I come to terms with everything as is, as I am and as it was/ is meant to be. Oh, is it enough, I ask myself every time I look myself in the eye, maybe everyone around, too. I wonder if there is a judgement waiting, is hypocrisy waiting to be served on a platter, no cutlery around, though.

I wonder if there is a label glued to my shirt as I walk through the crowds, I wonder if the burdens are enough, or if they are worthy of being held on to, fed enough to grow by the day and haunt me by the night?

I wonder, I walk, aimless, ruthless to the self and gentle on the weekends as I rest my feet, laying on the bed one moment, the floor or the grass the other.

I’ll wait, I’ll just wait till I am ready enough to come to terms with all that breathes within is purposeful, is a seed that is fruitful, is a process that shall come to life and right then, right there, be it on the floor, on the grass or in the middle of a routined battle, I shall come to terms with the fact that before I belong to anybody else out there, I belong to myself; Being my own hero.

-Mukhpreet Singh Khurana