#unansweredquestions
When I write
I write in questions
Well now I ask myself; why?
Why do I have so many unanswered questions?
And the only answer
That I could muster
Was this;
I don't know.
I don't know why you left me.
I don't know what it is that's preventing my recovery.
I don't know what I'm so afraid of.
Or why I'm afraid of it.
I don't even know why I write.
And I sure as hell don't know what I'm gonna do.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
Did you ever think of staying?
Or was leaving the only way
you knew how to love me?
Was I too much,
or not enough?
Did I ask for things
you couldn’t give,
or did you offer less
than you were able?
I wonder if you held back your truth
to protect me,
or to protect yourself
from watching me fall apart.
The answers don’t come.
But the questions—
they stay.
Lodged somewhere between
my ribs and my memory,
quiet,
persistent,
unanswered.
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 8:39 PM UTC
Why does a lamp burn, only to fade?
Why does a flower bloom, only to wither?
Why does every life tell a story,
Yet every end births a new beginning?
Will this cycle ever cease?
Or will the soul forever wander?
Is there someone writing this fate,
Or is it just a grand illusion we ponder?
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 7:35 AM UTC
What was her fault?
A desire to have a family?
A sacrifice which created another family?
A dream to be a working woman?
A want to live happy?
A life to see her children achieve big?
A kind hearted nature who always searched her happiness in her people's happiness?
What was her fault after all??
May 16, 2025
May 16, 2025 at 10:15 AM UTC
वाट पाहिलेली तिजी मी,
पण ती नाही आली
खिडकीत दिसलेली ती शेवटची,
परत दिसलीदेखील नाही
कित्तीएक वर्षं गेली आता,
आता गेलाय खूप काळ
तिच्या आठवणींचा मात्र,
मी केलाय सांभाळ
कुठे असेल आत्ता ती?
ह्या प्रश्नानं दिला त्रास
चेहऱ्यावर आहे हसू,
पण आतून आहे मी उदास
विचारलेलं तिच्याबद्दल,
चौकशी खूप केलेली
कुणास ठाऊक, कुठल्या शहरात,
होती ती हरवलेली
तिच्या आठवणीने खूप त्रासलोय,
नाही मला सुचत काही
म्हणूनच कदाचित परत विचारतोय —
कुठे असेल आत्ता ती??
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 12:34 AM UTC
To feel like a thin book of virulent darkness —
each page trembling under the weight of light.
The future reads me back like a thriller; every
silence a plot twist, and every sigh a cliff-hanger.
Suspended against a cosmic backdrop — a man’s
visible teardrop, feels heavy as the first raindrop.
And each day, a new palace of strange clouds arrives,
_unprecedented_ — flooding my soul and mind.
I dance to the rain’s percussion —each drop striking
its own torrents; and to rent a place in your thoughts
has built a home I can’t evict from my own head.
And before the breath of a dream abandons me,
press a killing kiss upon my lips —smother the ache
gently, unbothered, unanswered.
For this flower, let the questions rot where they bloom;
and let the mystery be the only mercy I have left.
For I’ve learned to live without the knowing, content
in the suspense of it all —the few riddles that refuse
to die keep me turning the pages, for who knows what
waits us tomorrow, and what quiet ending
the dark will write.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 4:16 AM UTC