Healing is a class act. Wounds do heal and along with those the cracks that appear in the process of becoming to unbecoming or vice-versa, heal as well. It is the healing of these cracks that leave one feeling connected, human and in love with the self.

The occurrence of every would is not external and the impact of every inner, well thought, decision can be damaging. Hence, healing your own self from your own little damages along with the external wounds is perhaps what can be passed on as ‘living’.

In a world where we are deeply encouraged to connect, to share and to talk about our opinions, healing somewhere sides in with silence. The silence of your being, not wanting to prove or to disprove, the silence of words which perhaps mean a lot or don’t and the silence of thoughts with either resonate or don’t, hold the power to heal the cracks within you that have resulted because of you.

Hence, I feel, the only class act that one can engage is in healing. Although brokenness has its own charm and beauty, a healed one holds that beauty with strength and grace.


Her signatures didn’t match, neither did her cards work 

Heels hurt her ankles; and the back zip made her uncomfortable

She stood patiently looking at her watch 

She was hoping something, somehow would tick in the clock 

The minutes turned to hours and hours into a day

Her routine of waiting never changed its way 

Righteousness never flowed in through the passage of her door 

She never knew what it would be if life had been tuned not abhorred

Perhaps destiny, is what she consoled her heart of!

Maybe the winds were listening to her in disgust and moved on 

Patience gave into pretence; circles reduced to dots 

Brokenness defined itself through her unnerving faith and trust.