Instead of crying, keep trying.
No one learns it all at once.
Each day you grow a little more —
that’s how the journey runs.
Words may seem strange at first,
numbers may spin and race.
But stay with them, keep steady —
they’ll soon become friends you can face.
Falling is part of walking,
it doesn’t mean you’re done.
Stand up, take the next small step —
that’s how strength is won.
So when the path feels heavy,
and the climb is high and long,
remember —
instead of crying, keep trying.
In the wilderness of endless graze,
I see how small I have been.
Not above the earth or sky,
but a fragment in the wheel of time,
a step belonging to the order of all things.
In the savanna filled with grass,
I seek myself beyond my eyes.
The truer self is not this body,
but the breath that stirs in all —
I am the wild, and the wild is me.
Everywhere I look, Mother Nature,
woven threads of leaf and lion.
Who am I to worry for myself?
I am only a strand in the vast fabric,
a hum of life that sings in chorus.
Life hides beyond my sight,
its “why” veiled in silence.
All I know: the journey is brief,
a step aside on a winding road —
yet in this fleeting moment, I am alive.
I dream of you every single day;
your smile lights up my world in the gentlest way.
No one could be prouder than I am of you —
my kiddo, in all you do, I find a joy so true.
So many times, I wanted to stay,
when you said, “Dada, don’t go away.”
I wished to pause the world outside,
just to sit with you, and be by your side.
So often, I longed to leave it all behind,
to listen to your stories — unhurried, unlined.
There’s so much I want to say and share,
about the love I hold, beyond compare.
I could guard you fiercely at every turn,
shield you from pain, from lessons you’ll learn.
But my dream is deeper, my wish is true:
to see you stumble, rise, and push through.
One day, when I’m no longer near,
I want you to stand tall, without fear.
Cry if you must, then wipe your tears —
and face the world, my love, beyond your years.
In twilight’s gentle glow, I wander near the edge,
where whispers of the evening to the night do pledge.
A path of shadows lengthens, drawing me away,
into the heart of distance, where memories lay.
The echoes of our laughter, like whispers in the breeze,
will linger in the silence, entwined in twilight’s ease.
The sky, a silent witness to the stories left behind,
holds the hues of moments that in my heart unwind.
Though words may fade to silence in the distance vast,
the threads of our connection in my soul are cast.
With every step that carries me beyond our shared embrace,
know that I’ll miss the haven of our familiar place.
The stars will speak in whispers, the moon in knowing sighs,
of all the warmth and wonder that within your spirit lies.
And though the road may take me where I can’t return,
the glow of what we cherished in my heart will burn.
In the mirror of your eyes, I see a younger me,
a tapestry of dreams, fears, and boundless possibility.
You whisper to my soul the echoes of what’s past,
guiding me with clarity, through shadows that were cast.
You, a beacon bright, my future self unfolds —
a vision of potential, where aspiration holds.
No need to impress, or don a masquerade;
in your presence, I am free — no truths are left unsaid.
As steady as a mountain, I stand firm and true;
as wild as the wind, I wander, chasing skies of blue.
With fire’s fierce passion, my spirit is alive;
and like water, I adapt — embracing change, I thrive.
We converse in whispers, in a space beyond time,
unjudged and unbound, our spirits intertwine.
In the refuge of our words, we explore and unfold,
finding solace in the silence, where our stories are told.
Though troubles may arise, they are but a fleeting night;
we name them, and we face them, in the morning’s light.
The world may not fathom the depths we’ve explored —
but in our kindred silence, our truest selves are stored.
Is it, or is it not,
this weight upon my mind —
these chains of expectation
that tether me to time?
Is it, or is it not,
the whispers of the past,
the duties and the norms
that bind me in their clasp?
To break, or not to break,
from all that’s deemed as right;
to wander through the shadows,
to flee into the night.
Is it, or is it not,
the call of distant dreams —
the urge to leave the structure,
to tear apart the seams?
To live, or not to live,
in patterns so confined;
to seek a path less travelled,
to free the heart and mind.
Is it, or is it not,
a question that divides —
the longing for the open,
the fear of shifting tides?
Yet somewhere in the silence,
a voice begins to sing —
a melody of freedom,
a flight on unbound wings.
To break is to discover,
to cast off all we’ve known,
to walk into the future,
uncharted, and alone.
Is it, or is it not,
the courage we must find —
to loosen all the bindings,
and leave it all behind?
How do I feel?
This question is bigger than anything else — or it has become so.
I believe — as much as scientists don’t — that children are born with certain memories of a past birth. But what nobody believes is that we are also born with certain feelings: dominant, and predominant. And that, in fact, is true. At certain times, I strongly feel that I am depressed; but every attempt to understand it has resulted in one, and only one, answer: this is just how it is. I am born like that.
Like a sine wave, I am happy and sad — maybe not at such regular intervals, but I am. So, to answer how I feel is, at the same time, thoroughly relative, and unanswerable.
The problem is this: we are taught so many things, but we are never taught how to live alone — how to embrace fear, how to embrace the odd. We are only ever taught how to deal with the even.
I will write a series of posts to unravel these questions — and I hope to find some curious people, with the same mindset, along the journey.
I tried to imagine a world without memory. It is strange, and unsettling — but not impossible.
I thought this time I’d get through it, but like the cycle of day and night, I am bound to fall again and again. Wondering what is so devious about it. I heard, “Take a bow and trigger it. You will get to know the arrow.” Principles to restrict, but all they do is fall blatantly. I wonder what’s in the bog of time; all I know is to fill me with something special to realize who I am. To the end, what it takes to get through all the chaos and live.
I believe, a will to live and die.
I am confused all through. I am drifting apart from the regular me. I am forgetting the difference between good and bad, as I was always perplexed by it. To my situation, to my path, often celebrating the tears of sadness. If I am all the devil, I assume, I wonder what is next in the hellfire that I’m living in. Yet, call it a life to choose between two, is another lie. I’m surrounded by clouds of lies. Often I want to break free of all, but lies are all they are. But that’s all I’ve got for now.
There is a Coldplay song — “The Scientist” — that I have been listening to for a long time; and every time, it hits me hard, and makes me wonder about beginnings and endings.
Is it merely a concept — a particular thing happening within the framework of time? Or are we actually bound by some existential feeling, about the metaphysical boundary of beginning and end?
I know there is no single answer to it — just like Albert Einstein’s efforts toward a Theory of Everything. But still, I choose to believe that we can work in the direction of understanding the concept behind it.