I only write when
my eyes blur the words I haven’t written
my hands can barely hold up a pen
the mirror shows someone who isn’t me,
when I’m hiding—locked in the bathroom
or fold myself into bed
only then do the words come.

I wish I could write
about moments I feel light—
seeing my cousins
for the first time in months,
waving at my friends
with too much excitement
but no shame in my smile.

When I walk alone
and it doesn’t feel like something’s missing,
when I Lordofon or Froukje
fills my tears on full volume,
I pass a stroller,
a baby laughing at nothing
and I hope they will never
learn how heavy joy can be.

And obviously all the times—
joking with my sister
until we can’t breathe,
messaging my grandma
just to hear her thoughts,
sitting with mom and dad,
not needing to say a word.

Arm wrapped around my neck
laughter encased my ears
skipping as you do,
out the school gate.
Her bright smile
did glow like the sun
her warm eyes
were stars dancing gracefully.

As children we did play together
giggling all days long
now together still
we enjoy our short time
the minutes we sneak between revision
are my favourite of all.

शब्दांना फोडणी लाऊनी
बनते आयुष्याचं भोजन,
भावनांच्या मसाल्याला
टाकायचं त्यात प्रयोजन.

कधी रागाचा लाल खरडा,
तर कधी आनंदाची खीर,
थोडं मजेदार आंबट लोणचं,
त्यात रुसलेल्या रसगुल्याची भिरभिर.

एक कौतुकाचा लाडू, अन
थोडी लहरी असलेली कोशिंबीर,
त्यात समाधानाच्या भातावर
आमटी बसलेली गंभीर.

भावनांच्या या जेवणाने
भरतं ताट आयुष्याचं,
पण सर्व पदार्थ खाण्याआधी
प्यावं पाणी प्रेमाचं.

Whatever name you bear, wherever you may be
Know in my suffering, I thought oft of thee
I may never meet you, may never know your smile
Such grieving thoughts, my heart cannot reconcile

I could dally in fantasy, but it would never be true
It might numb my aching, but it would never be you
I dwell in the pain, in the fear and unease
so one day I may sit with you, under the shade of trees

In the silence of spring morning, grass glistening from rain
There need be said nothing, for our eyes would make plain
the fulfillment of aching, the two joined in one
a foretaste of mystery, the Church and the Son.

For here as I'm writing, in my doubt and my grief,
I write this meager poem, to hold firm to belief,
that God may bring us hither, so that you might here see
knowing the depth of my love for you, and the prayers made for thee.

i hope my next life i am a beloved puppy dog or a beautiful monarch butterfly or a strong magnolia tree or at last, a peculiar little girl who finally gets to be, seen when she's not shining, truly loved.

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.

When did we stop skipping?
When did we stop thinking that skipping was a legit option and preferred to walking or running?

When did the bounce and joy of a skip stop being the mode of choice?

And why don't we follow Millie and Trish? They could run a workshop: after service we could meet at the far end of the corridor, hold hands, and try to match their joy. But no matter how many lessons we had, I think we'd struggle to keep pace with Trish. (Though Millie would give it a good try.)

I'm still not clear why we stopped, but I think it's something to do with innocence - the loss of it. That and a failure of indifference.

I think I should start practising for the workshop; I don't want to make a fool of myself.

Flora loved the fireworks, though she couldn’t hear,
Feeling anticipation growing as the day approached that year.
Fire condensed in controlled explosions,
Full of color, optical wonder,
Flashing sparks and views that rivaled stars.
Finally, the moment arrived,
Flora set out on her drive,
Fear and reverence on the inside,
Focusing on her mind,
Feeling joy that now was the time.
Flashing colors across the sky,
Flora covered in many different colors,
Fauna running to their mothers,
Fawns falling from the shaking of the booms.
Flora felt like she was flying,
Fascinated by the sparkles that were shining.
Flora realized,
Fireworks are more than just a recreational display we shoot in the sky,
Fireworks are memories burning bright!
Flora may not have been able to hear them, but she reasoned that was all right.