Prompt scribbling!!

Write a response to your favorite poem (Poem : Be with those who help your being by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi)


It's always about the same cautions - same facts recursively planning to attack on the chunks of raw mind - why this! this society of unconscious pressure cracks the crux, all over our mortal being. Being with person, who has snaky ridges in their artificial blessings, is definitely a cursed feeling. Pinched and painful! They explain things in solid salty way, quite rusty but give-a-try scenarios.

You need to study, marks are essentials for survival. 90% - naah! You should score more than at least "God". This clean chit, numbers-curated report card can fix your future, part by part, echoed above the heavens for your performance based life-architecture. If you cant handle this pressure of scoring, how will you manage further?
Oh, A girl! Burdens! You need to feel that you are in debt. Make her believe that she is in debt. Following the same norms again and again, drawing unvaried line of frustrated melody.
Independent, is that a thing to accomplish? How dare you to think of a little chance to make yourself strong-minded/brave/self-sufficient? Follow the same pattern - don't try to clear the mess unless your age declares you to do so!

Rumi quoted "you will be broken open by death, when it's too late for all you could become". I can't think of one instance where this idea doesn't follow up. One could have been married before completing their teenage, if he/she doesn't take stand of their goals. It's not easy, I tell you! World is seeing child marriages, domestic violence, girl feticide, and what not, on the verge of destroying inner peace. And still, this convention of following the same trend recursively, make people to oblige blindly.

I am not sure whether yellow layers of emotions can ever suffice the need of belongings. I am not sure, when all flavors of prismatic breeze can soothe your haleness. Shouldn't it be blossom's nature to nourish central well-being, before giving others the privilege of plucking it?

Yes, my mind repeats its pledges, in the midnight!


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