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They ask,
How can I live?

And say,
They could not.

I laugh
and they laugh along.

Some days after,
They ask again,
How can I survive?

And say,
They wouldn't be able to.

I laugh again,
So they laugh along.

Now I ask myself,
How cursed am I?
& I let myself
Cry.

And when they ask again,
I just smile.
When I was 6 , my family found out that I have a disease called celiac disease or for short gluten/ wheat allergy , so basically I can't eat anything made from wheat , my lifestyle and diet is very different from those in my country, I am cut off from eating every thing outside.
So for ten years I have been constantly asked by my friends , cousins and sometimes very close friends , they joke , they ask , they pity , they sympathise , and they ask how can I live.
I don't know if it should have been me more tough to laugh and laugh again on the same question over and over again.
 Mar 16 Druzzayne Rika
Nylee
Where dust divides, a hue of difference in colours,
A country, one side, then other, invaders
We're mere humans, yet we claim our provenance
Confining gaze, a breath of tainted air.

The wall ascends, a shadow cast in fear,
A tangle wrought, where whispers disappear.
Eyes, distant pools, reflect a foreign face,
A phantom "other," in this bounded space.

We carve our claims, on earth we cannot own,
A fleeting reign, on seeds of discord sown.
Then plunder deep, and leave the hollow shell,
A vacant home, where echoes darkly dwell.

We chase the sting, to taste a fleeting sweet,
A twisted chance, where joy and sorrow meet.
A wheel that turns, a truth we cannot break,
A hollow faith, for empty futures sake.

What bones lie buried, beneath our polished lies?
A silent scream, where nature slowly dies.
The withered leaf, the silenced, hunted cry,
Reflect the void, where true reflections lie.

Beyond the walls, beyond the love and hate,
A question hangs, a sealed and shadowed fate.
Are we but echoes, of the lines we drew?
Or something more, forever breaking through?

We are one but thousand more
the fields that grow more than one grain
We look in our hands, the bone structure
Find the colour only when I become just dust.

Ever wonder what changes be in history
If victors lost and the other side raised the flag
We'll be uprooted to another philosophy
We're bred, We don't keep our originality.
It's  so much better
(let this be said):
be a happy fool
than a miserable sage
 Mar 13 Druzzayne Rika
Nylee
Stumbled to the fact
It is the moment you act
Is the movement,
But the second you react
it is where you stumble
start your grumble.
A quiet, dusty tumble,
Where doubt's seed,
Begins to humbly fumble.
Tried to the thought
all the things that you got
it's all forgotten lot.

Rushed to the plea,
a whispered decree,
a silent notion,
but the instant you see,
it's a fragile illusion,
lost in confusion.
Yearned for the hold,
a story untold,
a future grown cold.
Finding copper in gold
all that we get sold
Indeed we are getting old.
Wait? Is he still here,
Maybe he never disappeared.
He was here all along,
I failed to listen closely to the song.
When it echoes in my ear,
Silently I can hear those words reappear.
To think I thought he left,
Show yourself if I've found you yet.
I just noticed that a new author and Silent Echo's works are almost parallel. Almost as if we just found a paradox? Or better yet, he's in disguise.
Someday to write
the greatest poem
The most powerful words
forever to hear

Someday to write
the moment solemn
Where time will stop counting
— and prescience endears

(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
The copper bells glisten
Swaying in the sunshine
I pause as I listen
To the tinkling
Of the wind chimes

In the distance, they ring
A gentle melody -
I hear their songs
The unsaid words they sing

How sweet is their music
Sweet the joy they bring
Such is the wonder -
The magic of little things
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