Night time wonderings

What happens to their dreams when people die?
Do they get burried too?
Or like seeds; they grow?
What happens to the tears people cry?
Do they dry like auntumn leaves?
Or like rivers and streams they always flow?
What happens to the stars in people’s eyes?
Do they ever return with the night?
Or under the sunlight they always hide?
I wonder, I wonder what happens to the dreams when people die!

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Beauty of Age.

I wonder why people always complain about growing up. Growing up is so beautiful. It gives us wisdom, and knowledge, and experience.
I want to grow.
Meet new people.
Listen to the music.
Understand poetry;
Sure a child can party and sleep whenever he wants. But I want to wake up, and travel, inhale different sunrises and absorb different stories.
I want to feel love; and heartaches. I want to see people leave in the hardest of my times. I want to see my wrinkles take over my beauty. I want to see my hair grow grey and then white.
I want to grow up; and witness life happening.

So whose the prettiest afterall?

Mirrors are so strange. One reflection, and there we go, a rush to excellency. It makes us measure every inch of our bodies through the scale of perfection. From painfull plastic surgeries and hair transplants to our social anxieties and depressions, just to appear beautiful. Nobody wants to be judged but we brtualy judge ourselves. We magnify our own flaws to ourselves. Some pimples on our cheeks or a few calories can steal away our confidence. The worst thing is, it drags our attention to what’s not so important. Something that does not define us. We are defined by our personlity and intellect. We are defined by the sweetness of our tounges and bitterness of our words. We conceal our skins but forget to improve as a person everyday.
Mirrors are so strange. They eliminate the meaning of our existance.