Strong is the man I’ve become
I’ve learned to love the reflection  
that once felt foreign, distorted, untrue.  
I’ve carved dreams from discipline,  
built strength from sleepless nights  
spent chasing life with relentless steps.

Yet beneath skin grown tough,  
scars remain quiet reminders  
of a child forever searching,  
eyes wide, heart hopeful,  
reaching toward invisible warmth.

Every goal I set, every height scaled,  
bears a subtle whisper
an echo of longing,  
a hidden prayer:  
"Let this be home.  
Let this be meaning."

Some days I barely hear it,  
lost in triumph, bathed in sunlight.  
Others, it trembles louder
woven intricately, softly  
into every victory I seek,  
every summit I climb.

Though strength carries me,  
though love fills me,  
still the child inside whispers,  
asking quietly, gently
"When will it be enough  
to finally feel whole?"

We always search for meaning.
We always ask for reasons why things happen.
But we can never seem to agree.
What if that's because meaning is an extension of our perspective?
They say beauty is In the eye of the beholder. What if we considered meaning the same way?

I scrolled through the world on a glowing screen,  
Where faces smile but none are seen.  
A thousand "friends" with a flick of my thumb,  
but my heart is still lonely, heavy, and numb.

I sent a "LOL" to a blinking face,  
But the laughter? It lingered in no known place.  
The hugs were emojis, the laughs acronyms  
A hollow façade, cheap digital whims.

So I asked my phone, "What’s wrong with me?"  
It buzzed and it hummed and said, "Let’s see…"  
"You’ve got followers, likes, a profile so bright,  
But maybe you’re missing what’s out of sight?"

I wondered aloud, "What do you mean?  
I’ve got all the gadgets and a touchscreen."  
The phone just blinked, and offered no aid,  
The battery dimmed and hope was decayed

So I stepped outside with hesitant feet,  
The air was real, the sun kissed my cheek.  
But what if a stranger my presence espied
Better not risk it, I’m going inside.

I rang up a mate, just to hear them say,
“Wow” it’s been so long! Let’s meet up today."  
No filters, no captions, no polished display,  
Just stories and laughter to fill up the grey.

By the lake where the willows gracefully bend,  
We spoke about nothing, but it still seemed to mend.  
My fears took flight, like birds set free,  
And the world felt vast, yet still kind to me.

But even so, when the sun slipped away,  
And I found myself alone at the end of the day,  
It seemed to me, that we all blindly dance  
Fleeting connections left up to chance."

It’s the paradox, the great in-between,  
Of a world that’s both digital and unseen.
Counting likes to a meaningless prize  
I yearn just to matter in somebody’s eyes .

So I’ll take the tech, but I’ll tread with care,  
And seek the moments that make life rare.  
A screen can’t hold you, nor replace the touch,  
But balance is everything—it matters so much.

So here I stand, a creature of two,  
Caught in the old, the new, the true.  
I’ll scroll a bit, then I’ll put it away,  
and live, and love, in a human way.

I awake

at the window

a star blinks its cold eye

it is unfeeling, unseeing,

silent and indifferent.

yet I carve for myself some merit in it,

some significance.



The planet, indeed the universe

is not distracted in it's turning.

Not for me, not for you,

nor the millions of breaths that rise and fall.



Perhaps we see our existence as a tide

eroding some crumbling shore.

Yes there is a patient inevitability.

But if a star can fade peacefully and die

leaving only emptiness

Then should I suppose I matter.



Yes, I insist

I craft for myself a rebellion,

however inconsequential and fleeting.

I laugh into the void, like a struck match

weakly holding back the silent blackness.



The eternal ground beneath me rumbles

"you are nothing."

Yet still I hold my chest high

in folly I conjecture with my imperfect hands.

Cups of tea poured with ceremony.



I will write, I will create, I will build

I will love fiercely, in silent defiance.

The delusion only serves to magnify the audacity.

If the world has no meaning, why do I stay? Is it not because, even in the bitterness, there is one thing worth waiting for? And if all sweetness is the same, why does my heart turn away from them, longing only for the one that makes it tremble in delight? Perhaps meaning is not in the world itself, but in choosing to wait—for the one thing that alone can quench your hunger.