How tragic is it?

We all yearn for the same thing

Love.

Yet we fail to offer it.

Not to others. Not even to ourselves.

We’re all hurting for the same reason.

Our desires are identical.

But we choose to endure the pain

and let those around us suffer as well.

We hold back love,

then lament that we never receive it.

How tragic.

Everyone defines love differently.

But at its essence

we all crave the same thing.

Yet we’re molded to believe in varying forms of it.

And now,

we neither know how to give it

nor how to accept it.

How tragic.

We fail to find love

in our own homes,

in our own circles.

So we search for it

in strangers,

in fleeting encounters,

in harmful places.

How tragic.

We live in a breathtaking world,

yet we seek beauty

in someone’s thoughts,

in a verse of poetry,

in the pages of a book.

We discover love

only in ink and paper,

and the more we uncover it there,

the more it pains us.

Every day.

With every passing moment.

How tragic.

We lack the one thing

we need most

the very thing

that defines

our humanity.

How pathetic is it?
We all long for the same thing
Love.
Yet we don’t give it.
Not to each other. Not even to ourselves.

We’re all suffering for the same reason.
Our needs are the same.
But we choose to suffer
and let those around us suffer too.

We withhold love,
then complain that we never receive it.
How pathetic.

Everyone has their own definition of love.
But at the core—
we all want the same thing.
Still, we’re shaped to believe in different forms of it.
So now,
we neither receive it
nor know how to give it.
How pathetic.

We don’t find love
in our own homes,
in our own circles.
So we search for it
in strangers,
in fleeting moments,
in unhealthy places.

How pathetic.

We live in a beautiful world,
yet we search for beauty
in someone’s mind,
in a line of poetry,
in the pages of a book.

We only find love
in ink and paper
and the more we find it there,
the more we ache.
Every day.
Each passing day.

How pathetic.

We don’t have the one thing
we need the most
the very thing
that makes us
human.

Hey Dear Soul,
Are you lonely too?
Come, come here
Sit beside me
Lets feel lonely
Together
...


("..++.. = ..++..")

...we are one baby we are one...

("..++.. = ..++..")

...

i open my eyes.. suddenly
without any warning or sign
not that i can re-call
it just.. happened

and i gained my consciousness back
and it hit me
i am alone
empty
restricted

..wait

well why is this feeling so familiar
oh.. its not the first time
i have lost count
it is happening with me
again

since i first opened my eyes
the day i was born

i open my eyes.. suddenly
without any warning or sign
not that i remember

i am feeing alone
a house is built around me
i would call it my boundary wall
i have a family around me
but i will call 'em eye keepers

i don't have any friends
not that i am not social
or un loveable
but there are no people like me.. around me
the ones who feel
and understand deeply
and love
and nurture

not the ones who fight
and mock
and insult
and put masks

i need genuine friends
with whom my soul connects

in all relations i have been
i always felt like the mother
i have to tell them
and correct them

not that they object
but it's i am tired now

i don't have a lover in life
no lover as a friend or a partner
no true lover as a family
i am alone

the only lover i have is god
or what i belief
to comfort my being
cause sometimes
i don't feel it too

weather the problem is me
or it is my beliefs
but its good
somewhere somehow

around me is silence
and i have my Chromebook beside me
but i have no one to text
to one to say hi to

i like solitude
but it is not same as loneliness

i wish i could go out
and feel free breeze
and so i could feel joy
i could explore new good place
if not good humans

so i could feel good
and forget about everything else
and be present in now
if my now is new

but my now
its old now
its filled with past
and only hope
of good future

its killing me
but i would like to think
its reshaping me
into what?
i don't know


i am 16
with strict parent
they are not strict
but they are
i feel so suffocated
i don't have a license
or a card that carries my money

nothing i carry is mine
its a burden
even if little
all i wear
its all from someone
who made me feel a prisoner

i am not allowed to go out
jut for a walk
and neither they take me

they are so called busy
with blinking and breathing

i yearn for a lover
but i never had one
because all the girls or guys i see
they are living like every other kid
whereas
i feel deeply and understand deeply
i choose the righteous
and have more to talk about then alders
everyone gets inspire or jealous
so no one is on same page
on same level

its crazy isn't it
they think
all i had is a bliss
but its feels like a curse to me

not that i regret it
but i also don't like it
i am ahead
it might look fancy at first
but its not

i have crazy thoughts and dreams
they are crazy for me too
in a positive manner
and i do believe in them

but not a single person around
have something crazy
to think or talk about
not the type of crazy i would fancy

how can i be friends with people
who are not like me
neither do they understand me
and all we had in common
is that we eat drink and breath
that we sleep and have problems to carry
that we both run after something
even if we are still
even if we aren't moving
but there still is something
we run after
some might know
what it is
some might not

i came here
because i got no one
to hear to hold
so i write
and i hold my feelings
in paper
with my ink and pen
if no one else did.

she bloomed
in the hush of night
where the sun dared not reach
and the wind whispered secrets
no red petal could keep.

they called her strange
a shadow among flame—
but she stood, velvet and midnight,
thriving
where silence kissed her roots.

among the red,
she did not wilt—
she shimmered.
not in gold,
but in obsidian grace
wrapped in the perfume of grief
and galaxies.

she was not less.
only different.
a hymn of thorns,
a waltz of ache.

the roses around her
spoke in bright laughter
but she sang
in echoes—
in lullabies
dripping from glass edges
still stained
with the stories of those
who held her too tightly.

there was beauty
in her breaks—
shattered, yes,
but glinting with stardust
and crimson.

she had bled
where no one could see
and still
she stood.

not because she was untouched
but because she was unclaimed
by ruin.

she was not born to belong—
she was born
to remind the world
that even darkness
blooms.

he grew
in the shadow’s cradle
where light was a stranger
and silence spoke in thunder.

among the red flames,
he stood
a dark flame itself,
unyielding,
sharp as obsidian.

not softer,
not less
but forged
from the stillness
between storms.

his roots drank from broken earth,
his veins held stories
etched in crimson glass,
fractured but gleaming
a quiet war
etched beneath his skin.

they called him wild,
a thorn without a rose,
but he was more
a sentinel of shadows,
a keeper of scars,
a guardian of unseen battles.

he bled without sound,
he bore his fractures
like medals of fire
each shard a testament
to survival,
each wound a map
of the battles he won
without surrender.

he did not seek to belong,
only to endure,
to thrive
where others would break,
to bloom
like the black thorn
that thrives
in the night’s embrace.

between red flames,
you bloom
a shadow kissed by moonlight,
soft velvet on a whispered breeze.

you do not shout like the scarlet crowd,
nor chase the sun’s fierce gaze
you thrive in silence,
wrapped in the hush of stars.

your petals fold like secrets,
darkness woven with the scent of rain,
each thorn a guardian
of the beauty you wear like a crown.

beneath you, shattered glass
catches the world’s broken light
edges sharp with crimson,
like memories that bleed but don’t fade.

in the fractures,
a thousand tiny suns ignite,
glimmering like whispered dreams
caught between pain and hope.

you are both the wound and the healing,
the silent song sung in twilight,
a delicate rebellion
wild, rare, and endlessly alive.