dear readers
let me be an invitee to read these files
about the same place where you live but
chose to live in complete denial

don't be a traitor, don't ignore the cries
this place gave you oxygen, water, air and
every source meant for your survival
even in the adversity of times

dear readers
our house is on fire, the ice is melting
you're breathing smoke, and million species at risk
and each day a new revelation in these files

the man who drink champagne after
signing deals that harm your land
he lives in a palace built by his greed
while the future generations search for their place

The ocean is home to a curation of shells,
The type you admire, the kind you call into,
The ones that whisper stories the sea never tells.
The peach and the pink, the pastels and the white —
All of them bring such a sense of delight.

I trace my finger over each and every grove and indent,
Each fracture and dent,
Wondering what they have seen, and what places they went.
I wonder if they are signs — heaven-sent.

This poet wonders — does she know the truth that is grand?
The shell that is pretty mesmerizes those little eyes
While the sea calls out her name for help.
Sand between her toes and wind through her hairs,
She felt every emotion one feels at a shore.

The next scene was haunting — it took away her innocence.
Fishes started to wash up on the shore,
The water began to form bubbles.
As she looked at her mother, who
Whispered with her eyes-
“Sorry, my precious little baby,
Forgive the humankind,
For the future we will leave behind.”

The woman was a prophet,
though many forgot it.
She read the fates for others,
she helped many lovers.

Never once did she look into her own soul,
she never tried to find what would make her whole.
But one day, she wished on a star—
that she could find a love that would go far.

A man with a long beard prophesied his fate,
said he would meet someone great,
who orbits the same star
and would understand him—till they fell apart.

His life was a crowded place—
full of strangers who had promised to stay.
The man forgot his roots, forgot where he came from.
His fate, too, was read by another—who failed.

Amidst the unsettling crowd of animals,
I still feel alone, even if you're sitting by me.
There is no cure for my loneliness.

The feeling is similar to what great poets must've felt—
that forced them to ascend from this land,
by escaping through a beautiful route called death.

It is a path with many pitfalls,
but I feel at home, drifting off into the emptiness.

It doesn't feel unlike the feeling of loss—
it comes with a sense of finality
that I have experienced before,
in some vague memory of the past.

Now, I'm floating offshore,
taking my final breath.

I read it in the manuscript of yours where you called me out
You said:
“I jumped off the boat because I found a hand to hold”
My love,
you were not paying attention at all
Our boat would have drowned
carrying the weight of us
if I had stayed any longer,
with no hint where we should go

It felt right in the moment
You were keeping our hands tied
I wanted to let go
before I sink us to the floor
it was a test
that I don't know if I failed or passed—
but it was fate’s plan
I couldn't change

I refuse to let your absence define my love for you
Is it that you're not here, now that I know your true value? No
I gave you the warning signs that you were losing me
Your grip around my hand was becoming too weak,
and my lips were turning red in pain
but you looked at my face and screamed,
“We are just fine"

We were a passenger on a boat whose sails were torn,
but I still held hope we'd cross these waters,
and reach the land,
i thought maybe we would find peace
once we reach the shore
But you jumped off the boat—
because you found someone else to hold

mirror on the wall reflects my pain
it is a witness of my harsh reality
the pain i romanticized about someone
is a fake reflected image of my thoughts
the pain i never wished to tear my flesh
is the real persona i try to hide