Poem
She kept staring at the door, waiting for him— every day, every hour, every minute. When the doorbell rang, her heart would race. With every chime, she hoped that this time, it would be him. And when he returns, after battles fought and miles endured, she will hold him. Her
English
For the world, you are many things. But for me— you are my calm, my comfort, my purple. 💜
English
Some people write to love. Some write to be loved. Some write for love. Some write to move on. But... Some people write to heal, To love themselves even more. Some write for strangers, Telling how pretty they were. Still, they also write because they love.
Poem
I dance with my own shadow, 'Cause there's no one to hold my trembling hands, or share soft gaze. I dance with my own shadow, 'Cause there's no one to match my pace, or move in the same sequence. I danced with my own
Poem
The lost maiden, Wanders deep within, With thoughts of him, and what had drawn her in, She willed those thoughts to leave, Recalling the torture she reprieved, The sheer panic and congestion, As he stood towering, with bated aggression, Stocky, wide and unattractive, Unloving the maiden with fierce refraction, He
Poem
I have been stripped of my gift, Of flawless words that I could sift, Left with nothing but flesh on bones, And a mind that brims with unwanted ghouls, And whilst parts of me may wish for release, The release from the grip he has on my soul, A grip
English
Lately, I’ve been consumed by a single thought: I think I’m finally ready to write a book and publish it. Over the years, I’ve gathered snippets, stories, and reflections, fragments of moments that now feel ready to take shape. I can picture someone picking up this book
English
A boy aligns his little feet with the metro footsteps, as if the bigger ones would help him go faster. But they don’t, instead they turn him into a snail. I try to mimic him because I have nowhere to be. Have you ever played that game where you
English
You move, and something in me realigns — like the tide remembering what it was made for. You are both stillness and fever, the breath I lose between the pulse and the echo. When you laugh, light burns through fog — a wound made radiant. Without you, the world keeps spinning, but
English
I don't desire to lift the trophy for my aches I had nights of haunting and terrible storm those with retakes So I close my eyes to find my nightingale and offsprings of tree inhabitants And breathed in vision to search for the finest blooms, the season'
English
I walked through corridors that had no doors, where the walls whispered my old names and the floor remembered my weight. A clock melted in my palm; its hands pointed toward things I could not reach, and I let them slip like sand through broken fingers. The air tasted of
English
Some connections don’t need hands to hold— they live in the quiet between heartbeats, in the way your name still feels like home when whispered in my mind. They don’t fade with time; they just settle deeper, like roots that keep growing even in dry earth. Sometimes I