Soft light spills on splintered glass, it shimmers where your shadows pass. A fragile glow, too bright, too near a velvet lie that feeds on fear. The frame is gold, the silence sings, a poisoned crown of glittering things. Linger there, and you will fall into a slow, invisible wall. So turn away from borrowed fire, from painted dreams that never tire the truest sun still waits for you behind a veil of darker blue. Your heart may ache, your hands may sway, your breath may falter on the way, but in that hush, so deep, so true, a braver life will rise in you. The world can wait beyond your flame it does not own your fear or name. Guard the spark you’ve always known, your sacred heat, your quiet home. Release the weight that scars your soul, and let the stillness make you whole.

The mind is a bundle of thoughts. The ‘I’-thought is the root of them all. If the root is pulled out, all the rest disappear.

i long for what i never knew, a borrowed sky of endless blue, a warmth imagined, not recalled, a name my heart has never called. my hands remember being bare for touches shaped from whispered air, for rooms of light I never saw, yet miss as though they once were law. the heart can ache for hollow space, for absent smiles with no fixed face, we grieve the paths we did not tread, the words unsaid, the lives unled. how strange to mourn what never grew, to feel a loss that never knew a birthday, breath, or starting line yet still it aches, as if it’s mine. and still, absence leaves its art a silver bruise upon the heart, a quiet flame, a gentle thread, that glows where something might have lived. so I hold that ghost without regret, that softest grief I never met, for longing, too, is proof of care and love can bloom from empty air.

do not argue with a heart so blind that crowns its lies as truth enshrined your words fall soft like rain on stone, heard as noise, but never known truth can blaze in noon-day light, yet closed eyes still defend the night their minds are doors with rusted seams, padlocked by fear, asleep to dreams you speak in sense, they answer smoke, each meaning bent, each sentence broke while patience thins like candle flame, burning quiet, without a name so choose your battles, choose your ground, not every war is meant to sound sometimes silence cuts more deep than any vow you try to keep sometimes leaving is not defeat, but wisdom moving on its feet let them feast on borrowed lies, you owe no truth to deafened eyes keep your calm, your steady grace, do not let them steal your pace for peace is power, rare and sweet and walking on is victory complete.

Loneliness isn’t the absence of people- It’s the absence of being understood.

i am not shaped for every eye, nor meant for hands that fear my flame some lose their way if they step inside, some turn back early,no shame, no blame. my maze is honest, sharp with truth, its turns not softened for the weak i keep my fire, i guard my youth, i will not dim to be more meek. my edges cut, my light runs wild, i do not bow to borrowed night to those who see, the world grows mild and bends around my steady light. let crowds pass by, let whispers roam, let shallow stares dissolve and fade i stand complete, my own true home, no part of me left unmade. the point is clear, the path is known, no borrowed maps, no second tone to choose myself, my will, my throne, and love this soul that stands alone.

My words will either attract a strong mind or offend a weak one.🙃

do not let labor swallow light, or polish days till they feel tight, your soul is not a box to tick, nor praise that fades, nor numbers quick. you are the hush before the dawn, the breath that knows when rush is wrong, the warmth that lingers on your skin, the quiet joy you hold within. step out of clocks and measured days, let sunlight loosen rigid ways, rest is not loss, nor time misspent it’s where the self is gently bent. for hours unlived, though neatly filled, leave deeper hungers unfulfilled, and charts may rise, and crowds may cheer, yet life asks only: were you here? remember wonder, slow and true, the pulse that once ran wild in you, let living be the truest art not what you do, but how you are.

I walk where silence learns my name, where maps run out and paths turn flame. My dreams are sworn to no one’s creed, my fears lie buried with the seed. The fall is mine, the blood, the bruise, the nights that teach me how to choose. From soil cracked by doubt and ache, I grow the roots I dare to make. Alone I rise, alone I bend, with shadows only I befriend. Each sleepless hour, each salted tear tempers the spine that holds me here. And when the summit meets my gaze, no borrowed light, no borrowed praise the sun stands still, my name aflame, for all I own was earned through flame, not handed luck nor hollow fame.

“In the net of Indra, each jewel reflects all other jewels, and in each reflection all reflections are contained. One is all, all is one. The one does not obstruct the many, nor do the many obstruct the one.” ~ Fazang (3rd Patriarch of Huayan Buddhism)