The ghosts of old memories revisit

Breaking weakened barriers

Their cries echo against the walls of my own mind,

Their words, beautiful words,

Twist themselves cruelly within,

Haunting, taunting in soft whispers,

Their white fingers caressing the brain,

Each touch inducing pain.

Resurrecting old buried fears.

Afraid, alone, my mind

Is trapped within itself,

With no one to hear its plea.

It yearns to escape the walls,

To be unafraid,

To be free.

It yearns for the waters of the soul,

And to find within them,


for it is afraid that it will be swept away,

from the tide of uncertainty.

To find within them,


For it is afraid it will drown in the void of loneliness,

When one is left without one’s own self.

To find within them,


For it is afraid it will get lost in the vast sea,

Winds of “why” and “how” rocking its boat,

Floating unanchored.

I pick up the pen,

And dip it into the ink of the waters of the soul.

I write,

And the thoughts curl into words

Fears unfurling across the page,

No longer intangible and unconquerable.

I am unafraid.

I write,

And the waters break the barriers,


Each gentle wave corroding the metal,

Until it rusts and crumbles away.

I am free.

I pick up the brush,

And color it from the waters of the soul.

I paint,

And the waters of the soul dance,

Like tides of ocean to the moon,

Their motions cyclic and harmonic

In rhythm with the predictable strokes of the brush.

I find consistency.

I paint,

And the waters of the soul sing,

Their words illuminating the mind like moonlight,

In nights dark with loneliness.

I find that am no longer alone.

I create,

And the boat of the mind floats across the waters of the soul,

Anchored to the pen and the brush,

each wave leading it closer to its destiny,

each current pulling it closer to finding its own truth.

I find reason.

I create,

And the mind submerges itself into the waters of the soul,

Becoming one.

I find myself.

Inspired by poem by Lal Ded-

Coursing in emptiness,

I, Lalla,

dropped off body and mind,

And stepped into the Secret Self,

Look: Lalla, the sedge flower blossomed a lotus.”

Shaayar -e-fitrat hoo’n main jab fikr farmata hoon main, rooh bankar zarre zarre me samaa jata hoo’n main

(I am a poet by nature when I do imagination I become soul & get merged in every matter)

~Aditi Agarwal

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