Almost Free

She left...
not because she stopped loving,
but because he stopped staying.

Now, hearts knock gently,
but her door stays closed.

Not ready.
Not yet.

Somewhere between leaving him
and loving again,
she lingers;
almost free...

Still Holding on

She lingers in the echoes of yesterday,

where his laughter still curls in the corners of her mind,

soft and deceiving.

She runs her fingers through memories,

like brushing pages of a story

she’s too afraid to finish.

He left; but the scent of him lingers in the air of her quiet nights.
His touch, a ghost on her skin
she cannot wash away.
She tells the world she’s fine,
smiles stitched like fragile silk across her lips.

But love? No! Love is a language she’s afraid how to speak.

How do you trust touch

when his hands once promised forever 

and let go?

How do you believe in hearts

when his pulse once matched hers

but walked away without a sound?

Others come close,

but her heart... afraid to bloom only to wither again.

She laughs at their words,

but her soul stays quiet,

locked in the room where his goodbye still echoes.

He took more than himself when he left:

he took the part of her

that believed love was safe.

Now, she keeps the memories,

even the broken ones

because letting them go

would mean admitting he never stayed,

never truly loved.

And maybe,
a small, fragile part of her
still waits...
for the impossible return, for a love
that won’t come back.

Until then, she’ll walk, half-alive,
wrapped in the softness of what was,
too tender, too torn
to begin again.

Bound by Silence

I’ve stopped holding expectations,

But they weigh heavy with their demands.

I’m overlooked for what I am,

Exhausted, drained by empty hands.

They want me to bend, to shift,

To wear their choices as my own.

Disgust swells as I drift,

In silence, my voice overthrown.

A democracy, they say it’s mine,

Yet I’m forbidden to speak my mind.

A system of freedom, locked in line,

Where my choices are lost, undefined.

Caught in this web, I wonder still:

Are we free, or just bound by will?

ESCAPE not Death...

In shadows cast by moonlight's glow,

Mankind's dreams falter, hopes laid low,

An escape they seek, where burdens wane,

Responsibilities, a fleeting pain.

The weight of life, a crushing load,

Expectations, a heavy road,

No strength to stand, no will to fight,

The darkest hour, the blackest night.

 

The easiest path, a silent plea,

To end it all, to cease to be,

Alas, the hopes that died in vain,

Alas, the soul that bears the pain.

From mind to heart, from soul to flesh,

A tragic tale in silent hush,

A life that sank to lifeless sleep,

A heart that knows the endless deep.

 

Life’s a trauma, a cruel jest,

To defeat oneself, eternal rest,

To win by death, the final breath,

An urge to ease, to escape in death.

Alas, the laughter that now fades,

In empty rooms, in hollow shades,

The soul grieves... the heart cries... 

with every tear, a world of lies.

 

A tragedy unfolds; whispers cold, in tales retold,

The burdened laugh, the weary jest,

To seek escape, to find no rest. 

Yet in the dark, a sliver’s gleam,

A fading star, a distant dream,

For even in this somber play,

A hope that lingers, come what may.

 

Alas, dear soul, the battle’s fierce,

The wounds are deep, the scars they pierce,

But in the struggle, find your part, Tragedy of heart. 

For life, though heavy, holds its grace,

In every shadow, a tender trace,

So laugh at pain, that one face,

it was clearly an Escape not death.....

Womenhood

In the heart of the village, her presence shines,

A beacon of hope, a thread that binds.

She walks with grace, her spirit bright,

A woman leader, a guiding light.

With wisdom deep and eyes that see,

She nurtures dreams, sets spirits free.

In her hands, the map of change,

A multitasker, she rearranges.

From dawn till dusk, she wears many hats,

Balancing roles, breaking through the stats.

A mother, a sister, a friend so dear,

In her embrace, there's warmth and cheer.

She weaves connections, like threads in a loom,

Building bridges, dispelling gloom.

In the fabric of community, she's a maker,

A force of nature, a peace awakener.

In her laughter, echoes resilience,

In her silence, echoes brilliance.

For she carries the stories, the hopes, the fears,

Through trials and triumphs, through the years.

Here's to the women, strong and wise,

Who paint the world with vibrant dyes.

In their strength, we find our grace,

In their love, we find our place.

The womenhood, let us stand tall,

For they are the heartbeat, the soul of all.

In their light, may we forever bask,

For in their presence, we unmask. 

SHALLOW SHADOW

 Oh, let me spin a yarn of great delight,

About a world where things are just so right.

In a land where fairness always prevails,

And she prove herself, as the story entails.

Why, oh why, must she prove her worth?

In this enlightened age, a land of mirth.

A realm where equality supposedly reigns,

Yet she must dance in society's chains.

She, a creature of immense grace,

Must prove her mettle in every space.

For in this world, so just and fair,

Her skills and talents need constant declare.

Oh, the joy of proving, again and again,

That she's just as good as any man.

In a world where equality's the norm,

She must navigate the relentless storm.

"Why, oh why," she wonders in dismay,

As she battles stereotypes day by day.

In this sarcastic ode, let's raise a toast,

To a world where proving is what matters most.

For she, a marvel of wit and might,

Must validate herself, terms of bright Shallow.

In this cosmic comedy, indeed is cold and shadow,

Proving herself is the eternal need.

So here's to the skeptics, the doubters, the crowd,

Who watch her journey, sometimes unbowed.

In this sarcastic verse, a truth unfurls,

That in proving herself, she conquers the world.

Critical imagination

Imagine a simple situation where there is so much inside a speaker to say and express; while he lack the perfect set of audience to listen. And This time the task listening isn't only the listening, it's actually the phenomenon to understand how actually the speaker has been suffering inside the shabby debate of emotion vs intelligence.

Then imagine another situation where the speaker indeed has a good volume of listeners; but he already knows none of the audience is actually listening. Rather this time the audience find the speaker audible because they lack entertainment in their life. Focus on another imaginary situation, This time speaker got his audience who are willing to read what's inside him. They do understand everything. Yet, both can't help each other because of a helplessness.

Often the relationship between the speaker and the audience remains complicated through a thin line of oppioniated criticism. Now imagine, there was no imagine from the very beginning. It was just the modesty of a crucial relationship between types of listener to a speaker!

In the last imagination, speaker yells;

How you see me could be fun'

Fact i face things; well yes m alone!

No glimpse of pain, no clue how frown?

The peaceful tragedy, stabbing me down.

Underneath the covers of smile; Beneath the howl of laughter,

Yeah! I successfully survived in their eyes as cool gangster!!

Under his imagination, he offers his audience a phrase with a smile- "If only letting go is easy, there are so many things i would have let gone without a sigh!"