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THOSE TIMES

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Those times, those times I thought my sacrifice would speak for my commitment. That if I gave all of me, it would be enough. Those times I loved to a fault, when I abandoned reason, and pushed for love, believing that all is well in love. Believing that love conquers all. Those times when my sacrifice was so enormous, it hurt me. It broke me. But I told myself, this is how it is done. This is what love demands. But what did I receive? I received manipulation. I received someone trying to be smarter, trying to outsmart me, while I was busy loving blindly. Those times I suffered, while someone tried to take advantage. While I bled, someone was building. What did I gain in return? Nothing. Nothing but lessons. And what did the person gain? Trying to establish themselves, trying to better off my labour, my love. Maybe, maybe there is a power in the universe that is fighting for me. Maybe there is justice watching. Maybe. But those times are gone. Those times are gone now. Time has revealed...
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That I Swore I’d Never Become

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  We all understand it, eventually. By and by, life has a way of making you walk a mile in the very shoes you once tried to throw away. Back then, I was a fortress. A one-man island. Mr. Independent. I remember the day clearly. I was convinced my guardians were trying to monitor me; track my every move, invade my sacred freedom. So I shouted. I let them have it. “I am always safe,” I declared, my voice dripping with the arrogance of youth. “Why should anyone worry about me? About where I go?” She, my guardian, didn't argue. She didn't match my fire with fire. She just looked at me with a patience I mistook for weakness and said, quietly, “Well... you will soon understand.” I laughed at her then. I thought she was being dramatic.   Fast forward years. The universe has a cruel sense of humor. Now,  I  am the host. And she - a young adult, barely older than my reckless, independent self from back then; is the one under my roof. Every minute of my day i...
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Inner Reflections

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  That a child doesn’t fly immediately after birth , why do I worry myself over those I couldn’t change? Why do I allow what I lack the power to shift to cripple the very things my strength could build? Why am I clumsy? Why do I think I can do it all alone, when even my birth required two bodies becoming one? Time is endless, but progress is gradual. Process is the deal, not wishfulness. My mind may have it all figured out, but birthing anything is never that easy. Teach me: one plus one is never eleven; it is two. Two hands make a grip. Two feet make a walk. Two breaths make a rest. Teach me to breathe easy. “When a man sees his end, he wants to know there was some purpose to his life.” - Marcus Aurelius Not panic. Not speed. Just the next small brick. Purpose is not a scream. Purpose is showing up like a seed that doesn’t ask the dirt for a rush order. Consistency is the mother of all flying, even if the child waits a year to try.
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Living in Afterlife

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  As narrated by the Mother: “When I was young, my mother was a lover of children, not just her own, but everyone’s. Other mothers in our community would bring their little ones to her door. They knew she would cook for them, tend to them, scold them when needed, and love them as fiercely as if they had sprung from her own womb. And I? I walked tall. I was proud to be mothered by such a woman. But pride, like peace, can shatter in a single night. I remember one evening when a woman came rushing to our home, clutching her limp, lifeless infant. Her eyes were wild, not with grief, but with accusation. She pointed a trembling finger at my mother. “You poisoned my child!” Then, without another word, she abandoned the baby with us and vanished into the dark. My mother panicked. She gathered the child in her arms, woke my younger brother and me, and hurried through the night to her elder brother—a renowned herbalist, a man whose hands knew secrets the living had forgotten. My uncle took ...
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Patient in Transition

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They called it a consultation - a word soft and mild, But I came as a queen who would not be beguiled. He asked for my story, the root and the vine, But I fed him the branches, the truth kept in line. I wanted a wizard, a mind that could glean The unspoken confession , the whole, unseen scene. I stood in his temple but prayed to my pride , And left half my sickness to fester inside. He worked with the fragments I deigned to provide, While the monster, in silence, grew certain and wide. The medicine failed —the true target was missed, A cure for the lie I had wrapped in my fist. Now, listen… I’m free from the flesh and its cost, But the freedom was won by the life that I lost. The question you ask: “Do they fall sick?” Yes, they do - But the sickness that masters is the one you outrun true. So I write from the far side of grace, A memoir of pride from this desolate place. Be bold with your healer , be naked, be plain. A half-told affliction is a self-inflicted chain. For the all-knowi...
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My EX

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Remember that time you swore your love was infinite, Recounted the rogues' gallery of exes before me, And rejoiced that you'd finally found your harbour, your port in the storm? You blessed the day our paths collided, Marvelled that the universe could create someone so uniquely me, And crowned me with the title of "irreplaceable." For a while, I wore that crown like a king. Your conviction was my religion. Genotype was just a science experiment we were sure to pass. Religion? A mere technicality. Tribal lines were for maps, not for us. The elders, with their weary counsel? They just didn't  get  it. We had a love so powerful, it could file taxes and fix a leaky faucet. That was our belief. Sure, we had our battles, but love was always the white flag. One look into your eyes was all the spark I needed to ignite a whole new war. We thought we had it all figured out. Then the meteor - not just a lightning strike - hit. And we shattered. We didn't make it down th...
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Mr. Viktor

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Let me tell you of a man, Mr. Viktor by the name, A fifty-three-year-old marvel (though he'll give a different claim). He'll shave off years or add them on depending on the fight, "You're all just children!" he'll declare, especially late at night. His eyes don't see the sunshine, but his mouth is always bright, Spilling tales with the confidence of a solar flair at night. He  said  he was a soldier,  claimed  he was a cop, A helicopter repairman - though he's never seen the top. He  alleged  he made his millions, before his voice could break, He  alleged  he sent his siblings abroad for goodness sake! Every niece and every nephew, flown out to pastures green, Though they all live down the street - but please, don't interrupt the scene! He speaks of Prague and Paris like a man who's been and seen, A global sage who's never left, if you know what I mean. He  fabricated  a Russian love , a romance hot and spicy, A daughter now of thirty-...
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