Writing

I am a writer, finding a natural rhythm in poetry, prose, and lyrics. For me, capturing a thought on paper with the same depth as I feel it is pure magic—a true art form. Over time, I have dedicated myself to honing this craft, learning to bridge the space between emotion and expression, striving to make each word resonate with the same intensity as the thought behind it.

Life is poetic

OAK

Era of pathetic.

Sadness is a loyal stray dog

I want to fly

Sometimes let the silence soak in

The little dark duck

At the end of the day

Author's apology

The melody of the moon

Life is poetic

The famous writer Henry Talor said that the length of poetry is determined by a far greater factor than the length of the page it's been written on.

I would compare the same to life.

The empty paper is the silence.. and the prose or line is the noise.

The span of life is determined by a far greater factor than time. Time is a paradox being mistaken as an orthodox. Time is the empty paper here and the actions are the ones which bring meaning to the lifeless endless silence. One word to describe poetry is ‘enchanting ' No matter what the theme is, every line of the poem is so enigmatic, in the sense that the person who wrote it with a specific emotion, the same lines can be read by others in a very vividly different emotion. Poetry is something which cant be described in words, a series of lies which go deep in our souls and our veins. Is on your mind, making u feel something. That's when you know you're in love. In love with that something which is Making u feel, in love with poetry.

Life is the same. Emotions felt in a situation vary from person to person making it confusing. Consider every event in your life as a stanza or line of a poem. Not always that your perspective would be the same as the other person's. Life is the same enigma which you fail to fall for, fail to love.

Falling leaves from the trees, dancing their way down on the grassy ground, gently lying there. It's poetry

The flock of birds flying in circles in the open smiling sky, playing with clouds. It's poetry

A mother looking at the life she let in this world.. her emotions are poetry. Everything in life is poetry.

poets are nothing but souls with eyes open to a horizon to feel all this, to have the play of words to write these fragile emotions down. Poetry is more than just imagination.

Poetry is life.. life is poetic.

OAK

If I could be reborn, I would return as an oak tree. Created anew by divine hands, I would rise not for my beauty or strength, but for where I would stand.

Though I passed away, enveloped by the gods, I would become an oak, my soft cheeks turned to fragrant wood. My roots would entwine with the soil where you walk. I would watch you smile and hear your breath, longing for a glimpse of your eyes I could never see as your distant lady.

As a young shoot, I would hope for your gentle care, wishing to catch the gaze of those hazel eyes. My love for you is so profound that your happiness would brighten my existence, even from afar.

In my absence, I would see you with another, accepting the joy and sorrow that comes with the breeze. I would pray that you find someone who loves you as deeply as I did.

Era of pathetic.

It's a vague illusion that mere rhyming and phrasing could be called a pean of work or poetry, i henceforth am here to disagree with the notion with the might and knowledge of it as it's much more intense, pulls a force way stronger than gravity and more than surface deep. Poetry is a weapon to concur something without a war, to heal something you didn't know was hurt , to express in ways sometimes eyes fail.. poetries frame falls and rises , demons and ashes , kings and merchants. Poetry kills and revives, dies and survives .. poetry feeds the divine, and poets are those warrior with the aura of bibliosmia and silence of ink to have the courage to write those crystals down, framing them to a spring of nouns and sounds , poets are those who shook history with a pen , no armour , wearing a cotton blouse , poets are souls who see light in the darkest depth of the sea, breathe where there is no air and then frame words to write what then they feel…

Sadness is a loyal stray dog

At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what you did for someone, how much you sacrificed, or how deeply you lowered yourself just for your words to be seen. In the end, it's the mistakes that matter the most—your wrongdoings, your lack, and your deficiencies. These will always take priority when someone judges you. People only see you as who you were in a specific moment.

Happiness is the most uncertain, the most delusional emotion. It feels like the highest peak, but it matters the least because circumstances change. Sadness, one of the most hated emotions, may seem temporary, but it lingers far longer than happiness, far beyond what the mind can imagine. Happiness is like fast food—you enjoy it at first, but too much of it makes you sick. It loses its special charm when you've had your fill. Without sadness to burn as its ashes, happiness has no meaning. It only gains value when contrasted with pain.

Life is a strange philosophy—one no philosopher can truly understand because it's an experience too specific for anyone to predict or measure. Life is uncertain, just as sadness and happiness are uncertain. But happiness is the emotion I fear the most. It's fragile, and its shadow is sorrow, because every happy moment will pass. The happiest moments will only become memories, and memories are designed to hurt you.

Yes, memories can make you smile when you recall them after a long time, as you try to relive those moments in your mind. But soon, a painful storm of sadness sweeps over, and those memories become nothing but symbols of longing—reminders of things you can never have again. No matter how wealthy or powerful you are, no one can relive a memory, and that's where sadness gains its grip. This is the burden of sadness—it stays to remind you of what's lost.

At least sadness understands the value of longing. It knows it needs to stay to keep you company. Happiness, on the other hand, is elusive—like a bird with no place to rest or the wind that comes and goes. You can't hold onto it physically or emotionally. Happiness never stays, and when sadness returns, happiness vanishes without leaving much behind.

Sadness, however, carries value. It will always be there, even in your happiest moments, lurking like a shadow. Just one thought of sadness is enough to shatter any joy you feel. Happiness, in this way, is a delusion—a beautiful but fleeting emotion. Sadness doesn't even realize the destruction it brings, like a stray dog that follows you, thinking you need company. You might try to push it away, but it stays because it sees the loneliness in your eyes. It clings to you, unaware of how much harm it causes, believing it's offering comfort.

Happiness, on the other hand, is without personality. It floats in and out of your life, often disappearing just when you need it the most. It hides behind other emotions, never staying long enough to make a difference. Sadness, though painful, offers something more—it stays, filling the empty spaces left by fleeting happiness.

I want to fly

I want see the birds up close when they do so cause it's enchanting. I want to swim in the depths of the ocean and let the bed sand hit my face as I giggle to push it away from my face and dive it for more, I want to laugh with the hyenas and I want to caresses that fine fur on the baby tiger's belly and I want to push off my limits and see beyond horizon and I want to gallop with the wild mustangs and feel the air in my soul. I want to sing with the orchestra and harmonise with the symphonies of the silence and then read all the books cuz I'll be infinite, the only thing which will shred me into pieces is that you all will be blind to me , deaf to my sound and I'll be invisible, yes I'll be infinite because I'll enter a domain where I can truly be free from the hurt and pain but I'll be gone from the void you all live in and you'll hate me because I'd leave without a goodbye but I promise you that whenever you'd smile, I'd bloom you a rose and whenever you cry I'll make the rain fall along so you won't feel alone. Whenever you're hurt, I'd make it snow to ice your wounds and let the coolness envelope you in its cold, whenever you'd miss me I'd blow a breeze of lavender which will kiss your lips and caress your fine cheeks where my hands might have never been.

Sometimes let the silence soak in

Feel beauty in their absence even when all you witness is ash. Silence is singing a gorgeous melody and symphonies are flying with doves.

It's time you see yourself of how beautiful and enchant casted a spell together and there you are, my extraordinary reader. You will be alright on your own.

The silence is here to listen to anything you say.

The little dark duck

The little dark duck didn't know her way, she drowned in the pool, got dirty in the hay

Her walk wasn't that steady or her eyes , they barely saw clearly but she thought it was how the world was, didn't question her ability. She was small, was sent to another lake , mama duck forgot to pick her home, she tried but couldn't find the way , she tried and tried but her funny feet gave up mid way , for the first time she doubted herself , her eyes which couldn't get a glimpse of the bushy path to mom. so she swam circles around the shallow end, fading the glimpses she held of home. The swans bumped her, pushed her away to the deeper end, she flapped her wings , flown away to the deeper end till when the wise owl caught her, pulling her up, guarding her in the nest. The little dark duck thought of home, she felt safe with the owl and her quiet night dome. She learnt to catch insects and build a home on tree , until she grew a little and old owl maa couldn't help her reach. So one day while she tried and almost flew , mama and papa duck came wadding through and snatched away the little dark duck from maa owl , pulling away on her funny feet, on the bushy path back home.

At the end of the day

it is not really matter what you did for someone how much you sacrifice yourself or someone or how much you just made your soul down for someone to see your words at the end of the day it's the mistakes which matter the most You're wrong doing. It's your lack of certain things. It's your deficiency of certain things which will always have the first priority when someone is judging you. You are being seen as an individual in a certain period. The most uncertain thing, the most delusional thing is happiness which seems the most attic moment and matters the least as a circumstances, changes and sadness one of the most hated emotion ever seems to be momentarily, but then holds a graduate way longer than a human imagination Happiness is like that one fast food you enjoy the most but soon turns into the one you hate because you had a lot of food. The one which has lost its special charm because you were too full of it.

It's true happiness is nothing without ash of sadness, it's true happiness won't have its value if there is nothing to vivify it or nothing to contrast it with an act, which is so which was so hurtful that it is not the act which wants itself to be valued but its value should be seen when happiness is created in leading it to be an epitome. It is just trying to prove how important happiness is Life is such a weird philosophy that no philosopher has the ability to ever gauge it because it's a very very very situation to anyone to be put in life is uncertain, and so is sadness and so is happiness. But happiness is an emotion which I fear the most because happiness is a great happiness is a sorrow because I know this world I know this moment would pass two and if it passes the happiest moment would become a memory and memories just just here to hurt you. Yes memories do bring a smile on your face when you think of them after a long period of time, imagining trying to relieve the moment, but then a gush a very painful hurricane of sadness over powers, and you feel that the memories were now nothing, but an epitome of sadness and epitome of longing and epitome of something you can't have no matter how rich you are, how wealthy Your identity is you cannot ever relive the memory and that is what the guilty sadness is that is what the pressure of sadness is but at least sadness is an emotion which knows the worth of longing. It knows that it needs to stay in order for keeping you company, happiness is a very difficult emotion. I say because it is a very it's like a bird happiness is like a bird, it knows no place to be stopped is like wind, happiness is wind it would come to you and then blow away. You won't have. You don't have the physical or emotional ability to hold it because happiness never stays and it would never matter when something called sadness would be arriving. Nothing no happiness would have its memory to hurt you but sadness would always have that value. It would always be there in the moments of happiness when you are at your peak of the happiness and you are feeling something you've never failed. Before just one more thought of that sadness is enough. It's so enough for you to just Forget about the happiness moment right now happiness is that delusion, but I'd say how painful this sadness is I don't think sadness knows how it makes other feels. I feel like sadness is that stinky dog you find in your alley which you run away from, but it just things that you need someone to be with so it keeps your company Maybe deep down he knows that he is really uncomfortable to be around but his discomfort which you bring to him things of himself. That way is nothing compare to what he sees in your eyes which is the loneliness. He wants to keep you company. I think sadness is very emotional, very innocent and it does not know what it's capable of destruction and happiness. On the other hand is a personality less phenomena which is flies away. When people needed the most which hides away an emotion back up happiness is not a very pleasure every emotion to feel.

At the end of the day

You don't belong in this era , my beautiful muse.. I should have hid this fountain pen who's ink brings muse to life, but so if youre here, so let me hide away all the clocks so youre not programmed to function by any set of law but all this powerless author could do Is hide you away and let you bloom. Im sorry for ive birthed you in such a calendar where your worth could never been seen, its where people just notice if your eyes are blue or green , not the literature or depth they hide beneath. Its all my fault, my beautiful dove ..so let me paint you in words which somehow make you feel home. Hiraeth, for all I could do. Its all my fault, I made you come to life because my lonely made me selfish. Ive been feeling odd alone. Ive longed the feeling of long coats of wisdom and violins orchestra of real classicals.

At the end of the day

When the symphonies grasp the light of the fireflies in its enchant , where the clocks are hidden away by a strange dwarf elf, when the wind sing and the waterfall harmonizes, the

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