"My journey is mapped and ready. I am only taking one dress."
~Chase Berggrun Courage is personal. It is the resilience of a woman confined inside the four walls of a war torn country, unable to escape. It is her silent acquiescence when there is nobody to alleviate her offspring's suffering. True courage is when her heart is doubled with grief and life gives her no reason to live, but she goes on towards the light at the end of the dark tunnel guided by her own faith and belief. Courage does not need red carpets. It does not need shimmering veils. It definitely does not need alabaster women in sparkling diamonds invading its territory. Courage is the name of all unsung heroes- men and women who have followed their words with action. That Anne Frank sitting in a small room in bombed Afghanistan struggling to breathe, that Florence Nightingale tending to patients in Syria and that Marie Curie relentlessly finding some home remedy because she does not have the money to buy medicines for her daughter, are all courage personified. These are the women devouring light from scars and bruises they have carried inside. These are the women who carry #Just Me and not #Me Too on their courageous shoulders. These are the women who have songs to sing even when their world is slowly dying inside a broken sky. They are brave. They are courageous. They don't need revolutions. They don't need movements. Because they are You and I. They know their war and they know they will survive. They may be a broken moon but they know how to rise. They may be a bird without feathers. But they know how to fly. © Jaspreet Mann. Courage. All Rights Reserved.
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The New York stock exchange talks about bank reforms
The royal wedding flies with the winds of Windsor One woman writes in Turkey, she is a judge The world walks on a broken leg, humanity doesn't budge. The guns blaze as usual, the Iran deal is called off Russian conspiracies ignite the United States One woman starts the #me too campaign, she is too late The Afghan girl joins twitter, justice will always wait. One woman here, one woman there in the everywhere One woman sits on the front porch, counting her grey hair The fumes encircle the filigree of the breathless air. © Jaspreet Mann. All Rights Reserved. So they read the news-
The police shot the man who muttered- Allahu Akbar on a busy street, killed one, injured four with his knife. They called him an 'Attacker' They called him a 'Martyr' Nobody walked in anybody's shoes They all murdered life. © Jaspreet Mann. All Rights Reserved. I wonder how it feels when Morpheus dreams. Does he dream of seasons? Does he dream of the weather? Does he dream of his Colombian coffee filled with melancholy or does he just think of what could be or couldn't be? Or does he just dream about where dreams should be.
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