Author: A Writer's Block!

Waking down the hall with a horrid IV,
No one can know how he feels so free.
He,a tiny one,had conquered the roaring ‘C’,
He said to everyone, “I could,because I never gave up on me.”

Cancer is something,
That no one wants,
And once you have it,
It always haunts.

He had conquered it,
He had won.
Now he could only sit,
And think of all the procedures he had done.

He remembered how bad it burned,
It was slow like seasons turned.
He remembered how painfully his stomach churned,
And how only to win he yearned.

He knew he survived,
Just because of his faith,
He was glad he was revived,
From this never ending scaith.

His skin was sore,
From the needles he bore.
The drugs he was made to take,
Made his body ache.

He had been tired of it,
He wanted to end this bid.
He wished to be fit,
And just be a normal kid.

He’d shown himself,and us all,
He won the battle with his back against the wall.
In size and Strength may you never judge him,
Because the Lord had faith in him.

Not many had believed,they lost hope fast,
Nor did he know how long he’d last.
He wants us all to know a thing,
Facing the ‘C’ is a scary thing.

To us he says,”It’s time to be creative,
And think outside the box.
To help someone with Cancer,
You don’t have to be a doc.”

Here is something I can tell you,
These are a few things that will help two-
Your friend with cancer,and your beating heart-
Be an angel in the Lord’s mart.

To help a friend with cancer,
You don’t need a medical degree,
To take them for appointments,
Or invite them for tea.

                                                    -Sia Savla.

Welcome to this generation,
Where people tend to smile,
Even when every relation,
Has been broken for a while.

Roses are red,violets are blue,
Sugars sweet,and so are you.
Welcome to this generation,Where the roses are wilted,and violets dead,
The sugar bowl’s empty,and the wrists are stained red.

Here’s a little story,
About this one girl,
Who fought with glory, But lost in a twirl.

She was fighting a battle,
That no one else could see.
She said,”It’s not against someone else,
But rather ,it’s the demons inside of me.”

She sat alone,
Alone at home,
Where her screams were silent,
But her dreams were violent.

She was tired of waking up,
With no one to hold,
She hated the feeling,
Of being alone in the cold.

There was no one to help her,
To make her meet her ends.
A pack of cigarettes, and alcohol,
Were her only friends.

The sky was dull,
And there was no silver lining.
In her little world,
Only for love was she pining.

Her heart is getting tired,
Of beating all the time.
It can’t compete,
With her restless mind.
So to numb the pain,
She draws lines down her hand,
Creating her own art,
With the dagger she kept in her night stand.

Everyday she’d say,”Silly little girl,
Don’t fool yourself,
They’ve seen your scars,
But just don’t want to help.”
You don’t know,
And you never will,
What ‘Are you okay’?
Would do to her urge to kill.

This went on for days,months and years,
And until she cried her very last tears.
She had decided that she had enough,
And the world around her was rough and tough.

She finally took a pen in hand,
And wrote a letter to her now broken band.
The letter was sealed,
And the mail had gone.

It was unreal,
But time can’t be turned,and actions undone.
Words she wrote, only they had read,
“I love you a lot, don’t cry when am dead.”
This was depression.

This was a war,
Where your heart and mind,
We’re neither against nor for,
They fought till the end,
But not for you,they fought to tear you.

Depression is a zombie,
You’re alive but your dead,
You don’t realize what’s happening,
You’re the walking dead.

Depression isn’t a beautiful sad girl,
With a boy kissing her scars.
It is wanting to take your own life,
Cutting open your own skin and burning it raw.

Depression is an art.
You paint a picture,
But with a twist,
You paint with a blade,
And the canvas is your wrist.

It is a never ending war!

-Sia Savla.

She has her own style,
And preferences,
She wants to go out for a while,
Without fearing consequences.
Who is she you ask!
She is a Woman.

Being a woman is nothing small,
Nor does it make her your prey.
She doesn’t need to take a fall,
Unless,it’s for you to stay.
Who is she you ask!
She is a Wife.

You asked her that day,
“Study!Why should you?”
She said,”I need to, if in this world I want to stay.”
Studying is for Boys, and you had two,
Why stop her,when she begged you too?
Who is she you ask!
She is a Daughter.

For you she troubled her body,
And her frame,
You yet cried,you had no shame.
“What’s a good woman?”, you said,
She said,”Only a good man knows.”
Who is she you ask!
She is a Mother.

She looks upto you,
To be her strength,
And she just wants to be your friend.
She has your back,
No matter what,
Maybe that’s her fault.
Who is she you ask!
She is a Sister.

Defined by none ,
She writes her own story,
Burning through the world,
She turns ‘history’ to ‘her story’.
And when you dare,
Tell her about the things you think she can’t be,
She will smile and say,
“I am a woman,and you cannot stop me.”

This is for those who stay up all night,
For those with hidden fears ,
And for those who put up a fight.
This is for those whose laughs and giggles we hear,
Cover up their hurt,pain,and tears.
This is for Women!

-Sia Savla.

Love is Love,
Please don’t differentiate.
It is pure,
Not something to hate.

They can love a girl,a boy, or both,
And wish not to be discriminated hence forth.
You may not understand them well,
And they may only wish to escape this hell.

You impose your views,
Strong as an ox.
Not known to you,
You force them in a box.

Society – Power and Strength,
A fatal thing.
You force them away,
As if they are nothing.

They hide away,
To escape your eye,
And hateful remarks,
Because they just want to get by.

Be thankful to God,
For humans in this world.
Thank God for Boys,
Thank God for Girls.

They can wear anything,
From pants to a tutu,
No matter their gender,
Your reaction is upto you.

When they are proud of what they’ve become,
Who are you to drag them to the ground?
Let boys be girls,and girls be men.
Let them be them.

Yes,they are different,
But there’s nothing wrong,
You can throw a fit,maybe one or two,
But just be proud that they came out to you.

-Sia Savla

लड़के हो तुम, कमजोर नहीं।
तुम रो नहीं सकते, और नाही तुम रोओगे।
लड़के मजबूत होते है, भावनाओ से बर्बाद नहीं होते।
लड़के मजबूत थे, है,और रहेंगे।

He was just a kid when he was told to Man up, told not to cry because men don’t cry. Forced to watch his mum get beaten ,forced to bottle up his emotions, and not to confide in anyone because those who share are weak, all of this for what reason ?Only one reason ! To become a man.

His dad never cried ,so neither should he -was what he was told, but now, when the world says that it’s fine to cry, to feel vulnerable, to share ,what should he do?
Spending 18 years bottling up his feelings, his darkest memories and fears, he does not know how to let go. He saw the MAN drink and smoke ,beat people to let go…only to let go. What was he supposed to do now ?

Toxic masculinity, ego ,addiction – the reason for one’s down fall or a man’s downfall, he had seen all of this I his father. He begged for someone to teach him to cry, teach him to protect, to make him a Real man ,a normal human. No matter what all he did not know, he knew one thing for sure –
This society was absolutely brainwashed to the core. It not only prohibited a woman from getting the freedom she deserved but also prohibited a man to be himself. It forced him to man up, when he was not ready to. He now wondered if there was something wrong in his head,in his bones, in his blood or was the society just another hell,prison!

-Sia Savla

Thanks for joining me!

Here’s a little about me:

16 years old,

I am yet a student.

With a passion for art and writing,

I am an author in the making.

Just started this blog for a heads up,

And i hope that the tea is in my cup.

I hope this journey is as wonderful as you are,

And I wish you like this at every hour.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton