Call me a failure,
a scissor-less tailor.
But I’m not a terrorist—
I’m a trial-and-errorist!

I fall into fire,
then rise even higher.
I seek inner flash,
not just piles of cash.

Accept that I’m different—
I don’t swim with the current.
I’m not here to conform;
I’m here to transform.

Born to learn,
my brain’s a disk to burn.
Life runs on zero-one—
The sky holds the moon and the sun.

Each soul crafts its story,
So I’m not sorry
for narrating mine—
whether I fail or shine.

Write. Rewrite. Restart.
My life itself is the art.

And just like that…

I summoned the courage
To Burn the page
I once folded with trembling care,

It now curls in flame,
a silent flare
of who i was…

Is no longer here.

In the beginning, the universe was simple
hydrogen adrift, uniform, featureless.
No spark. No shape. No meaning.

Then came gravity. the invisible hand that pulled atoms toward each other.
Not out of need, but out of attraction.
It didn’t shout. It didn’t rush.
It simply drew things closer.

And in that closeness? Friction. Heat. Fire.
Stars were born.
Inside those stars: gold, carbon, diamond, uranium, the rare, the radiant, the necessary.
Then came life. Then came us.

Without gravity, the universe would have remained cold. Silent. Pointless.
With it, it sang.

So too with love.

We, too, begin as scattered selves.
Drifting. Guarded. Independent.
Then someone enters our orbit
not violently, but undeniably…
and we feel pulled.

And when love is real - not forceful, but fundamental - it becomes gravity.

It creates heat where there was indifference.
It forges meaning where there was monotony.
It makes the rarest things - trust, sacrifice, ecstasy, forgiveness… possible.

Without love, we remain inert.
With it, we combust into something bigger than ourselves.

Not every force is loud.
Some reshape the cosmos… quietly, persistently - one touch at a time.

Songbirds don’t look at stars—
they remember flying through them,
light still clinging to their wings
in quiet threads,
as if every note they’ve ever sung
was once a star’s breath,
returning now
as feather,
as memory,
as hush.

Below, the earth forgets—for a moment,
as they belong only
to the sky—
their shadows stilled on rooftop shingles,
dew collecting on the curve of an open beak.

The stars break open,
a quiet rift in the silk of night,
and the birds tear through it,
their wings drenched in the pulse of the void that calls them.
They are not flying—they are dissolving,
splintering the sky with their hollow bones,
a single feather falling—still warm—
onto frostbitten grass, where breath curls like thread,
the air holding its breath,
where a child once pointed upward,
cheeks red with cold,
mouth open,
trying to name the silence.

They unravel the seam of existence,
folding the stars into their wings.
Each beat of their flight whispers of something
older than the pull of gravity,
older than the first sigh of the earth,
and their bodies hum with the pulse of forgotten time—
raw as the tongue of first flame,
electric as life before it knew how to die,
diving through the dark,
shuddering like the first breath of dawn.

Their wings slice the air,
each beat a breath drawn from the edge of infinity,
light unraveling in the wake of their flight,
a trail of fire stitching itself into the sky—
as if the stars are only ghosts
sleeping in the hollows of their wings.

And down below,
the frost still clings to the grass,
the rooftop shingles glint with dew,
and the child—grown now,
worn and quiet—
steps outside before the sun,
looks up,
and in the hush between two heartbeats,
remembers.

Not the birds,
not the sky,
but the moment before the wound hums open,
when pain still tastes like possibility,
and the body leans into the ache,
as if it could outrun the stars—
their pull straining
against the throat of its own name.
A raw hush stretching,
nerves still speaking between pulse and ruin,
caught between breath and breaking,
where silence sings its softest name,
and the flame almost—almost—takes.

I was born with 12 eyes
they said it would make it easier
to see the light
but it only left me inching
in a fog
hiding from shape-shifting shadows.
So I learned to consume the dark
with my mandibles
and let it seep in to my hemolymph.
The parasitoids laid out fences
of peppermint and lavender -
trying to cage me.
But the oak tree took me in
and let me rest upon her leaves -
told me to shed my old skin.
I hung myself upside down under her branches
tried to see the world from their point of view
but there was still so little light,
and the birds were cawing
threatening to have me for breakfast.
I learned to hold myself tightly,
wrapped in imaginal discs
that liquified my dreams
into a rich soup for me to drink.
I emerged
soft and wet -
with ommatidia that see in all directions
and bear witness to invisible colors;
and with wings formed like dragon scales,
that move in the shape of infinity.
Now I feast with my feet,
feeding on nectar of Chloris
and cross continents
while they marvel at how far I have come
from the ground they tried to keep me on.

A single candle
A window open
             An arm cascades

I'll wash my words in the sea
Some may descend
         Never be seen

They may disperse
Within the seven oceans
            Await judgement    

Or be ignored
Left to evaporate
Condensed  
       To rain

I live and love as if reborn—
a soul unclenched, no longer torn.
The skies toast me with silver cheers,
a prayer answered through the years.

They come—those laughs, those quiet grins,
in giggles, bursts, and subtle spins.
Joy spills from me, a song unplanned,
like heaven kissed my throat by hand.

Love lives in me, unmasked, awake,
no echo now, no smile that’s fake.
This flight—unreal, yet somehow true—
feels like the stars are shining through.

So bless me once, then bless me more—
this heart has found an open door.
Alive at last, and every time,
my pulse recites a warmer rhyme.

And now—farewell to cries and drains,
the ghosts of sleepless, silent pains.
I’ve stitched my wounds with threads of grace,
and kissed the shadows from my face.

A fresh start waits with arms spread wide—
a softer path, a gentler tide.
Let love come near, with light that stays,
in hugs and hopes and golden days.

Watch me drift, a flame unchained,
laughing where the stars have rained.
The sky broke open just for me—
yes, life still burns—
but now, I burn to be.