she calls me by my name,
and i answer without words—
only an offering:
a silent prayer,
bare skin,
a breath held,
a promise kept sacred,
to worship her.

she calls,
and i answer with stillness.
like dusk slipping
into the night—
utterly, completely—
pulling me apart
under the tears
of moonlight.

she calls
even as i soak
in her waves,
as they kiss my collarbone,
make heaven blush
when i fall to my knees,
laced around her soul.

her intention to claim me
was there from the start.
written in her whispers
******* my thoughts.
she never asked
what broke me.
only reached with rippled hands
to take my weight,
press it into the riverbed
like something malevolent,
already forgiven.

the peasant girl
who once brought water
from the well
in cracked hands
has returned.
she didn’t mean to
leave her home behind —
it was just to escape
the silence between
what she needed
and would be never given.
she left with nothing
but a hunger for life,
so she started living,
and never apologised.

a ring of embers—
with my heart
gently dancing around it.
my face is flushed,
damp with tears,
as if they’ve started
boiling in the mist.
I miss you—
but you know that
already.

in my mind,
I’m still running
through the churchyard,
over stone paths,
stepping on yellowed leaves
that gave up weeks ago.
inside me:
homesickness, awe,
anger, grief—
a hundred hands,
all pulling.

you’re a morsel of bread,
bird-snatched, half-left—
carried home in my satchel,
like a labourer
at the day’s end.
you are what you say you are.
and more.
a frame around my soul
I can’t keep building.

I cannot call you mine.
I have a homeland.
you gave the exile shelter—
but she, the other,
birthed me, shields me,
and one day
will cover me with earth.
I cannot betray her.

for what you made
and left behind,
I owe you still.
I’ll bury your legacy
like treasure
in the quietest parts.
it’s mine to guard.

and maybe one day,
when time has vanished,
I can return to you—
shed a tear for us
on a rainy evening,
wipe you clean
like an old photograph,
and place you gently
back into
a quiet corner
of the past.

In this world where we all belong,  
Kindness is what makes us strong.  

A simple smile, a helping hand,  
Can spread joy across the land.

When words are gentle and actions are kind,  
Happiness we soon will find.  

With a caring heart, a listening ear,  
We make others feel valued, loved, and near.

It’s so easy to treat each person with respect,  
In love and kindness, we all connect.  

In every moment, big or small,  
Kindness is the greatest gift of all.

Family has always been  
a vague concept to me.  
You let me into yours—  
still, I didn’t feel at home.

It takes time to unlearn a broken mold,  
a family so heartless, so cold,  
to find one that truly loves—  
through thick and thin.

At your family’s table,  
laughter rings like wind chimes—  
familiar, effortless, soft.  
Your family leans in, passing bowls with ease;  
My family stands back—hands buried in pockets.

My family could never sit that close  
without shattering glassware,  
or silence heavier  
with every breath.

My family was meant to be broken...  
too many flavors of opinions,  
none who get along,  
forever far from resilience.

Even yours isn’t perfect,  
But their warmth comes so easily
Why does mine freeze at every smile?
You say your family is crazy,
but they show up—  
more than mine ever did.

Some remember me—  
a cousin, a daughter,  
a memory with laughter,  
on quiet Sundays  
when the kettle’s on  
and the world feels soft.  

Others keep me tucked  
in unopened branches—  
too polite to reach,  
too distant to prune,  
unbothered by who's missing whom.

But your family—  
they make it seem effortless,  
being together for a reason  
other than obligation,  
regardless the season.

They love openly,  
and welcome those who are new—  
an additional member to be let in,  
a new story to be explored and loved.  

That’s never how my family was.
Just hands in pockets,
and doors half-closed.
Not even close.

Arms linked, thoughts linked
One person in two bodies

𖠋𖠋

They crack the same jokes,
They sing the same songs

It's difficult to belong
Among people that are linked

𖠋𖠋  𖠋

But today, you took my arm in yours,
Adjoined me to your chain

Today I felt like one of you—
If only for a little while

𖠋𖠋𖠋

I crave the change I also dread,
It dances loud inside my head
For when you’ve lived in chains so long,
They start to feel like where you belong

They bind me tight, they hold me still,
They crush my voice, they break my will,
But in their grip, I’ve come to stay,
And fear the world without their sway

What would I do, if I were free?
No walls, no locks, no weight on me?
This place, though cold, I’ve come to know,
It shaped my steps, it taught me “no.”

My dreams keep whispering through the dark,
But even dreams have lost their spark
For even there, I fear the cost,
Afraid to find what I have lost

I long for joy, yet flinch from light,
I watch it glowing, clear and bright,
But I’ve lived so long in shadow’s arms,
The sun, to me, might do me harm

How can I walk with eyes so gray,
Into a gold and blinding day?
Without the chains to pull me back,
What compass guides the open track?

What rules exist when none remain?
What shape is joy that’s born from pain?
And so I stay, both near and far,
A prisoner who guards their own bar

The box said
‘1,000 pieces’
Yet the picture is complete.

I watch from the lid—
unfitted.

There was never room
for 1,001.

With a bit of mud upon their peak
a pair of tiny birds ventured into our abode.
I asked my mother, tinged with excitement
“Mother! Why have they graced our home?”

“To craft their dwelling,” replied Mother.

My childhood routine altered—
to oversee the endeavors of those winged beings
and witness the splendid nest they shaped.

Then came the day when Mother uttered,
“The swallows have birthed their offspring.”

Swiftly,
the fledglings matured, mastering the art of flight
and on one uncertain day
they soared away from the nest
yet didn’t return.

My heart echoed the emptiness
of the now-deserted nest.

Mother sighed and shared,
“It appears, the fledglings have departed their nests.”

Weary of my persistent inquiries
regarding the rationale behind their departure
Mother, one day, responded with irritation—
“Their progeny has blossomed into adulthood
they’ve left the haven of the nest
bound to their mates
busy crafting a new abode afar.”

I rushed to Mother
clasped her in a tight embrace, and
with resolute tones, proclaimed,
“Mother! I’ll never make another home!
I’ll stay forever young!”

-०-