Tag: Poetry
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for the Disconnected Self
No funeral marked the moment I lost myself, no eulogy read as I dissolved into scrolls, swipes, pings, alerts— digital rosaries I clutched more tightly than prayer.
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The Friend Who Holds Without Clutching
What do I value most in a friend? Not brilliance, not boldness — but gentleness. The quiet kind, that listens without interrupting, that holds space instead of demanding explanation. This poem is a love letter to those who tend rather than fix, who sit with silence instead of fleeing it. A candle in the storm.…
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The Moon Stayed, But You Didn’t
I looked at the moon. I whispered your name. It stayed. But you… you didn’t. The sky didn’t flinch. But I did. Again and again. This is the anthem of the ones who still set the table for someone who never knocks.
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What Are You Good At?A Confession in Light and Dark
I am good at surviving what no one ever admits they lived through. At carrying hunger that howls in libraries. At becoming myth in my own bloodline— not disappearing, but dissolving, like ink becoming memory in water.
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The All I Carry: A Poetic Meditation on What It Means to ‘Have It All’
What does “having it all” truly mean? In this deeply personal and lyrical reflection, I explore the quiet joys, the redefined ambitions, and the evolving truth of fulfillment. A tender, thoughtful answer to the question we often rush to answer—this is a poem for anyone searching for peace in a world that keeps shifting the…
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Talk to Soon: A Journey Through Voices Unheard
A poetic exploration of voices the soul longs to speak to but often ignores.
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Where the Voice Forgot Its Name
Because names peeled off doorbells like old skin, While the moon grew restless in your tea, Though your shoes never forgave you, Even then, the echo asked for ID. And something—finally—named itself: belonging.
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Inheritance of Oddities: A Catalogue of the Self
A surreal plunge into the soul’s storeroom, Inheritance of Oddities is a journey through the uncanny, the forgotten, and the beloved. Each item speaks—half-memory, half-metaphor—of what we keep and why it matters. This poetic odyssey dissects the mundane into myth, the absurd into relic.
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The Ritual of Awakening
I forgot who I was just long enough to meet myself. we shook hands like enemies pretending to be diplomats for the sake of the children.
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Tomorrow Is a Compass Made of Salt
“Hope is not polite. It barges in with muddy feet and eats all your strawberries.” Life wrestles with doubt, collapse, and resilience in a dialogue that blurs the line between “I” and “You.” The mantra — “The sun will rise tomorrow, and I still have a chance” — becomes a lifeline stitched into surreal metaphors,…
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