I'm afraid to write—
Afraid ,because they made it forbidden.
They stitched our tongues with fear,
Since truth to them is rebellion.

We live in a world full of injustice,
Where they claim,"we are one family,"
Yet at the table ,some are served wine,
And others only water.

But who will address the truth
If we all live in intimidation?
Who will name the villains
If we always bow down to injustice—
Drink poison and pretend it's cure?
Will this world ever be better?

We are told to walk on dusty roads,
While the "special"ride high with chauffeurs.
School slam doors on children
Whose  only crime is poverty.
But tell me,is this humanity at all ?

But our tears are not water.
They're fire.
Each drop consumes and leaves a mark,
A day is coming,
When those who made us weep
Will pay the price
For every single tear.

Although our voices shake with fear,
Our hands tremble while we compose,
We will rise, we will be heard.
If not us ,then who?
If not now, then when?

Everyone has  bad days.
Sometimes, the day turns vicious,
Making one feel
Like hiding from the world  a bit .


Sometimes, we shed tears,
Condemn the day,
But it's like a storm:
Intense, alarming,
Yet always with an end.

A reminder of a boy i once liked—
He used to slip me love letters before class,
Sketched in shaky handwriting,
Decorated with crayons I had once given him.
At the bottom, two ducks floated side by side.
Back then, I thought it was the sweetest thing.
Now I roll my eyes and smile—
How silly it seems.

He picked wildflowers,
From the schoolyard fence,
Told me they were as pretty as me,
And tucked them into my hair
My cheeks burned hotter
Than the blazing afternoon sun.

At night, I would stay up  too late,
Texting him on my old flip phone,
Pretending to snore
Whenever my parent peeked in.
I swear my heart was pounding louder
Than the phone's plastic keypad.

Back then,
I swore he was the only boy
Who could ever exist in my world—
A match made in heaven, I thought.
Though low-key,
I was too shy to say it out loud.

The only soul i trusted
With my secrets
Became the one
Who shattered them.
Can you truly call yourself my friend?
I don't think so .

You stabbed me -
And the deepest pain
Was never from the blade,
But from the  hand
That held the knife.

Your deception  built the walls
Of my bitterness.
I would rather drown in silence
Than speak my heart to you again.
Yes, you broke me-
But it's okay

Because everything circles back.
What goes around
Always returns.
And I’ve learned—
It’s far better to walk alone
Than to walk beside
A friend who speaks behind my back.

If the dead were to return from their world,
Would they still remember us?
Would they still smile when they saw us,
Or have our names scattered like dust in the wind?

Has time already changed too much -
Would they find us strangers,
Different from the ones they left,
Unfamiliar in their eyes?

Would they return with new faces,
Attributes we cannot recognize
Barely recalling
The shelters they once called home?

It's a riddle I keep chasing,
A puzzle without an answer,
A question that lingers in silence-
Unsolved.

It feels unfair ,
How you never noticed
The nights i cried myself to sleep.
Or maybe you did -
and just never showed it


Then you come back
right after I had learned to move on.
You can't be serious -
after I moved on
do you know how cruel that is?
you will never understand
the weight my heart carried.


Now even the thought of you
turns bitter in my chest.
And can you really blame me?
I once believed in holding on ,
but life taught me otherwise.

I never thought
detachment would feel like this.

Sometimes-
it's in stubborn  commitment ,
That impossibilities soften into possibilities .

For it's in trying that we overcome ,
And  in  persistence,
that we are remembered  above.