Deep within my heart's chasms
Chai aur ishq ek jaise hai: Jitna ubaalo, utna gehra hota hai rang
Monday, 31 March 2025
Echoes of stardust
Sunday, 15 December 2024
The Strings They Pull
A poem dedicated to kids of narcissistic parents**
They call it love, they call it care,
But in their grip, you gasp for air.
A silent pact, unspoken, unseen,
A labyrinth of control wrapped in routine.
They weave their words, a subtle snare,
Promising shelter but never what's fair.
"Do this for us," their whispers decree,
And freedom is traded for loyalty's plea.
Their smiles are sweet, their tone benign,
But hidden beneath, a sharp design.
They twist your thoughts, make you believe,
That love is earned, not freely received.
Every success, they claim as their own,
Yet your failures, you bear alone.
Their pride in you feels like a chain,
Binding you tight to their domain.
You question yourself, but their gaze is clear:
"Without us, you'd disappear."
Yet deep within, a voice takes hold,
Whispering truths you've never been told.
Love should uplift, not weigh you down,
It shouldn’t demand that you must drown.
For wings are meant to stretch and soar,
Not clipped to keep you near the floor.
Break their strings, and rise, take flight,
For you are more than their shadowed might.
In your own light, you’ll come to see,
A love unbound, pure, and free.
The Mirror Never Lies
The Words That Wound
A child sits silent, his heart clenched tight,
In the echoes of words that steal the light.
From lips that should cradle, comfort, and care,
Comes a torrent of pain too heavy to bear.
"You're worthless, foolish, a burden to all!"
Her voice like a hammer, her words like a wall.
No lullabies, no tales of delight,
Only sharp-edged scorn in the dead of night.
Her tongue, a blade that cuts to the bone,
In a house full of people, he feels so alone.
Each syllable bruises, each sentence stings,
Shackling his spirit with invisible strings.
He looks to her face, searching for grace,
But finds only shadows in its place.
Her laughter is bitter, her kindness withdrawn,
And the child wonders what he did wrong.
His tears are quiet, his cries unheard,
Drowned by the weight of her biting words.
The world outside is a distant dream,
While her anger swells like a raging stream.
But deep within, a flicker remains,
A hope that someday he'll break these chains.
For even in darkness, the smallest flame
Can whisper of freedom and call his name.
One day, he'll rise, and her voice will fade,
Replaced by love that his heart has made.
Though scars may linger, his soul will soar,
A child no longer, but something more.
Thursday, 28 November 2024
Invisible Battles
Monday, 14 October 2024
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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A poem dedicated to kids of narcissistic parents** They call it love, they call it care, But in their grip, you gasp for air. A silen...
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Born of fire, forged in light, Drifting through the endless night. Ancient stars that lived and died Left their dust where we reside. ...
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In shadows deep where echoes hide, A heart beats soft, its pain denied. Unseen, unheard, the tears do fall, A silent cry, a muted call. ...