finally, she has learned how to
love herself, till the sun shines
and moon comes back—
to lighten the night
the storms calm down,
waves become ceased
and the ocean is tranquil
in all chapters of her life
she has mastered the techniques
of surviving in hell

no matter what form
of pain
comes into your life
pain is always raw
and brutal

looking up at the sky,
wishing to be a part of is
what we all dream of—
then come those
who stitch up their feathers to fly;
to prove that you can own that sky
with your efforts
rather than chillin'
if we really desired for the sky,
we had been one of those
but sadly, we can't make a difference
though it's not late

overthinking is like
killing yourself
with your own hands
this way you don't need
to hire a killer for yourself to die

curiosity alone
can cause problems,
but when it mingles
with resilience
you create a different story

he calle me a warrior
just because i lived a life
harder than his

others commented
that's the easiest recipe of being a warrior

and here i am thinking
they have not even lived  through my struggles
neither they've faced my ordeals
nor felt my pain

how they have a right
to just pass words
that will stab like little needles
on my existence

making me stand as a question'
in front of everyone's eyes
where my answers will be treated as invalid
even before i will say them

that's not a warrior in their eyes
but a girl whose moves is out of their calculations
they just see me as nothing
and want me to believe that too

sadly, i am not easily influenced by someone's words
as i had so many problems to learn from
what was best for me
and i would call myself the queen who is skilled
in turning girls like me into an invlaid format
they can't decode

i came back to see
the notifications
but you left a message
which made my day

i am grateful of the answer
that i got

"it's okay, if things take time."
the real problem starts, when it stops.

pain shows no mercy,
it treats you as an enemy
even when you are always holding
a first aid box–
to heals its wounds
it's like a snake biting you back

you think
one day my memories
will fade away
from your life,
like i did

what a dream you have

you forget one thing
it was not my choice
to leave you
it was your impulsiveness
who drift us apart

if everything is just a memory,
tell me if i am
worthy of
that time
where you think of me
or in the end,
even when your heart
thinks of me, is really just a memory

not just only tell me
to stop hating my body
teach me
how to do it
saying is easy than doing

whenever you want to
give your heart
to someone

just check
they are safer than your comfort zone

i was a soul whose life was all about
my own blood, flesh and bones.
i never indulge into your flight,
but you envied my sky
which was offer to me, to fly.
it was you, who compared
yourself to me.
then why you are blaming me
for your choices.
i was fine with my imperfections;
my demons and angels.
just because you couldn't
tackle your negativity,
you had no right to raise your finger
at me, as i never caused your problems.
when all i did was pass by
from your life.
i was a stranger to you.
yet you stabbed me with your
poisonous words.
shot me with your negativity.
cut my wings, by accusing me.
if you couldn't achieved your dreams,
why you killed my dreams?.
was i an easy prey—
or your failure hurt your ego!.

it will be a sin
if you will use someone's love for you
to forget someone's pain
left in you

In shadows deep, where sorrows bloom,
A heartache lingers, a soul's dark tomb.
He asked me why I don't love myself,
Said, "I am tired of life, everyday."

A melancholy melody in the night,
Echoing woes, wrapped in pale moonlight.
His eyes, windows to a desolate sea,
Lost in the abyss of his own decree.

The world, a weight upon his soul,
Every step, an agonizing toll.
He questioned why self-love would stay,
In life's relentless, bleak ballet.

I spoke of dreams, like shattered glass,
Of moments gone, too fleet to grasp.
In the tapestry of time, threads fray,
A tired soul, in shadows, does sway.

Yet, in the weariness of his plea,
A symphony of sorrow, hauntingly free.
For love, a mirage in the distant mist,
A fragile hope, by pain kissed.

I painted verses in never ending rhymes,
Of beauty lost in the passage of time.
In nature's embrace, a mournful song,
Where the echoes of joy had grown strong.

"Embrace the self," I whispered, so frail,
In the silence, where heartbeats pale.
Life's weariness, an unending maze,
A tragic ballet, through sorrow's haze.

The soul whispers, the night descends,
A requiem for love, as darkness transcends.
He asked why I don't love myself,
I answered, "Dear friend, in sadness, delve."

i am silent most of the days
i have have learned this hard way

that when you are vocal
about something

the more your voice will spread
the more you will lose people
from your life'

i am not good with risks
that's the only reason for my silence

now i just observe
and pass a smile

not  because its easy
its all about what i can loss over
what i can gain

if history  r e p e a t
itself then why they say
it happens only
once upon a time?

He claimed we were perfect rhymes, you see,
But he forgot, even in rhymes, there are categories.
In the sonnet of love, our lines entwined,
Yet labeled different, destinies maligned.


In the ballad of us, a melancholy refrain,
He missed the nuances, the subtlest pain.
Perfect rhymes, he said, a symphony sweet,
Yet our verses diverged, in sorrow's heartbeat.


As if in a villanelle, repeating our theme,
But the echoes of love weren't as they seemed.
Labeled apart, in the poetry of fate,
A somber truth, our love couldn't abate.


In the rhyme scheme of life, a dissonant chord,
Our love, once harmonious, now ignored.
He said we were perfect, a poetic crime,
Yet in reality, we were running out of rhyme.

if love could say anything
it will demand
answers
from those
who used the name of love
for hurting a heart
where love bloomed

just to become someone
who never get hurts;
i try to become an  i m m o r t a l
who lives long,
without feeling sad
to say goodbye to those
who was once standing by his side