Rise and Live Full! ( a poem)

 

You know,

there are people who stand

on the corners of their own lives,

watching themselves

like strangers at a bus stop,

waiting for someone else

to tell them when to board.

Don't be that person.

Don't make your joy

small enough to fit

in other people's pockets.

Don't whisper your dreams

when you were born to sing them

from the rooftops

of your magnificent soul.

I'm talking to you,

yes you,

with your heart wrapped tight

like a present

you're afraid to give.

Unwrap it.

Unwrap it now.

Don't you dare

make yourself comfortable

in the shallow end

of your own life.

The deep waters are calling

and you,

you beautiful, breathing miracle,

you were made to swim

in the vast oceans

of possibility.

Don't let your eyelids

grow heavy with the weight

of other people's expectations.

Don't seal your lips

when the world needs

to hear your particular song—

the one only you can sing,

the one that's been waiting

inside your chest

like a bird ready to fly.

You think you don't have time?

Time is what you make it,

and you,

you have been making excuses

when you could have been making magic.

Rise up.

Rise up, I say.

Rise up from the ashes

of your careful living.

Rise up from the grave

of your quiet desperation.

Dance in the middle of Monday morning.

Laugh so loud

the neighbors remember

what joy sounds like.

Love so hard

it changes the weather.

Dream so big

the sky has to move over

to make room.

Kiss the rain.

Argue with the wind.

Make friends with your shadow

and enemies with your fear.

Tell the truth,

even when your voice shakes.

Especially when your voice shakes.

Speak your name

like it's a prayer,

like it's a promise,

like it's the first word

God ever spoke.

Because here's what I know:

You can spend your whole life

being careful,

being quiet,

being small,

and still,

still,

the world will hurt you sometimes.

So why not be magnificent

while you're here?

Why not take up space

like you were born to take up space?

Why not love like loving

is the only thing that matters?

But if you choose—

and it is a choice,

always a choice—

if you choose to make yourself small,

to live like you're apologizing

for taking up oxygen,

to love with one foot

always pointed toward the door,

if you choose to be

the person who watches life

instead of living it,

who whispers when you could roar,

who hides when you could shine,

then don't expect me

to dim my light

to match your darkness.

Don't expect me

to walk slowly

because you refuse to run.

Don't expect me

to whisper my dreams

because you won't voice yours.

I am not here

to make myself smaller

so you can feel bigger.

I am not here

to apologize

for the fire in my belly,

the thunder in my voice,

the lightning in my step.

I choose to be

phenomenally,

outrageously,

unapologetically

alive.

I choose to love

like loving is breathing,

like loving is the only prayer

I know how to pray.

I choose to dream

in technicolor,

to hope in surround sound,

to live in three dimensions

when the world tries to flatten me

into two.

So come with me,

if you're ready to be brave.

Come with me

if you're ready to be seen,

to be heard,

to be gloriously,

messily,

beautifully

human.

Come with me

if you're ready to rise.

But if you choose to stay small,

if you choose to stay quiet,

if you choose to stay hidden,

then stay.

But know this:

I will not dim my light

for your comfort.

I will not shrink my dreams

for your fear.

I will not apologize

for being everything

I was born to be.

I am rising.

I am singing.

I am loving.

I am living.

And phenomenal woman,

phenomenal man,

phenomenal soul—

you can rise too,

if you choose.

The choice,

always,

is yours.

Echoes of Folly: A Historical Tapestry

 

In ancient Troy's majestic, towering wall,

A wooden horse stood proud and ten feet tall.

"A sacred gift!" the Trojans cheered with glee,

Not knowing death lurked in that gift so free.

They hauled destruction through their city's gate,

While hidden Greeks inside would seal their fate.

The Titanic gleamed, a palace on the sea,

"Unsinkable!" they boasted, bold and free.

Ice warnings came like whispers in the night,

But pride sailed on, dismissing prudent sight.

The frozen deep became their final bed,

Where hubris led and fifteen hundred bled.

At Chernobyl's heart, where atoms danced in flame,

Men played with fire to win technology's game.

"Just one more test," they said with reckless mind,

Leaving caution and safety far behind.

The earth itself would glow with toxic light,

As folly turned the day to endless night.

Napoleon marched through Russia's bitter snow,

His grand armée in columns, row by row.

"Moscow awaits!" he cried with fevered dream,

But winter's wrath would shatter his grand scheme.

The frozen steppes became his soldiers' tomb,

Where arrogance met its icy, final doom.

The Maginot Line stood strong like fortress walls,

France built in stone what logic rarely calls.

"No army here shall ever break or bend!"

Yet Germans simply walked around the end.

In concrete trust, they placed their nation's hope,

While nimble foes found paths beyond their scope.

The Edsel rolled with chrome and marketing might,

Ford's crystal ball had failed to see the light.

They built a car that nobody would buy,

A monument to dreams that went awry.

The public laughed at what they thought was best,

And millions lost became folly's bitter test.

In Salem's streets, where fear and madness grew,

They hunted witches, innocent and true.

Spectral evidence seemed proof enough to kill,

While reason fled and panic climbed each hill.

Twenty souls died for crimes they never made,

When wisdom's voice in terror's din did fade.

The Challenger reached toward the morning sky,

While engineers warned, "Wait! Don't let her fly!"

But schedules pressed and publicity called,

So safety checks were rushed and protocols stalled.

Seven brave hearts were lost in freedom's name,

When hubris turned their glory into flame.

The dot-com bubble swelled like golden air,

As fortunes rose from ventures built on prayer.

"This time is different!" echoed through the land,

While phantom profits slipped through eager hands.

When reality came knocking at the door,

Dreams crashed to earth like waves upon the shore.

The Hindenburg floated, pride of German might,

A silver whale drifting through the sky so bright.

But hydrogen whispered danger in the wind,

While confidence kept safety discipline thinned.

In moments, fire consumed the floating dream,

And folly's price was heard in every scream.

From Tower of Babel reaching toward the sun,

To modern schemes that leave us all undone,

The pattern holds through every age and year:

When wisdom flees, disaster draws near.

Pride goeth first, then comes the bitter fall,

And history records the folly of us all.

Yet in these tales of hubris and of shame,

Lies wisdom's torch, an ever-burning flame.

For those who learn from errors of the past

May find that prudent choices long outlast

The fleeting glory of the reckless deed—

Humility's the greatest human need.

So let us pause before we charge ahead,

And heed the warnings that our forebears bled.

In every choice, let caution be our guide,

And temper bold ambition's swelling pride.

For folly's echoes ring through time's long hall,

But wisdom's voice can spare us from the fall.

A tale of Goodwill!!

 A family of four; parents & two sons;

Charlie the elder, young was Olson.

 

Every blessing of World , every favor imagine

was provided to them in abundant fashion.

 

But something tormented Pa from inside,

Peeled his flesh was Charlie's pride.

 

Dearest to him, was upshot of his dreams

boorish & angry, with demands in extreme.

 

A connection suggested: 'be friends with your sons,

'you still have time, this gap is grave concern'.

 

Thought of intervention for the younger son,

do not imitate my boy Olson.

 

Spare sometime my dear son

share your matters, for a friendship long run

 

Some interests to relate, love, and delight

Share daily chors , or whatever is in sight.

 

'Feel free to tell secrets, I am your friend

And father felt feather light, thought relations all mend.

 

That Young soul took all this  to heart.

Green & unfledged, thought of a friendly start.

 

But what to talk or tell, nothing came to mind;

Next day after school, Olson skipped play time,

 

And waited for his man to come from work.

Sat along him, questioned nonsense irks.

 

Father answered a few,  wasn't in a mood

Conversation at sea, situation crude.

 

Next day boy waited again in friendship lane

But still no hope, not much gain.

 

Without any clue started the same exchange

His promise wasn't there, it was quite strange

 

Never called for, two days in a stack

Goodwill once volunteered, now Hope's taking aback.

 

Still with spirits though not very high,

Son waited third day, to meet his big guy.

 

Same clueless questions he uttered for a start;

Reply this time, was bitter and hard

 

'Why so curious and prying to me,

I am your father, not a proven guilty'.

 

Son stood baffled, what to say ….

But friendship knew enough to sneak away.

to all Inconsequentials!! (dewlling in minds)

Like moths drawn to flame, they flutter near— 

these restless souls who carry weight of unspoken longings in their chests,

 their whispered words a prayer 

for something they cannot name.

What drives them to this circling dance?

 Perhaps the same force that pulls

 the ocean toward the moon, 

that bends the sunflower's face

 toward light it cannot touch.

In their borrowed anger lives 

a mirror they refuse to hold—

 the reflection of their own 

unfinished becoming,

 their own untended gardens 

where envy grows like wildflowers 

in soil they've forgotten how to tend.

I have become their meditation,

 their mantra spoken in reverse— 

each harsh word a step closer 

to the truth they cannot bear: 

that I am not their enemy, 

but the embodiment of dreams 

they've convinced themselves 

they're too broken to pursue.

And so I dwell, rent-free, in the sacred spaces of their minds, not as conqueror, but as catalyst— the uncomfortable question that follows them to sleep: What if you turned this energy toward your own becoming?

For in the end, we are all

 just walking each other home, 

even when we've forgotten 

the way.

(s.shah)