Can I Ever Love Like You?
You gather stars like whispered prayers,
Threading silence through your gaze
And I wonder, trembling,
Can my heart ever hold such grace?
You love like twilight touches the sea
Soft, unspoken, endlessly vast.
While I burn like the first monsoon storm,
Wild, aching, fading too fast.
You give without asking,
Without needing to be seen.
I reach with hands too eager,
Clumsy in what I mean.
You’re a lullaby the night sings to itself,
A sigh between two verses of time.
And I? I’m a cry in a quiet chapel,
Too raw, too loud, out of rhyme.
I don’t know if I can love like you—
With that stillness, that eternal light.
But in every falter, every fracture,
I keep learning what feels right.
So let me love in my own broken way,
With all I have, though not enough.
And maybe, just maybe, in my chaos,
You’ll find a kind of love.
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ARISE , AWAKE
Millions of ants are born and perish every day, unnoticed and forgotten. But we humans are the fortunate ones, said to have earned this life after countless births. With a mind capable of wonders and a body crafted intricately by the divine, why should we merely exist? Let us rise, think, create, and strive so that long after we're gone, our footprints remain etched upon this world !-
Fall, If You Dare
Fall in love with the woman
who walks barefoot through her own mind
who lets silence seep into her bones
and turns solitude into a symphony.
She is not lonely; she is listening.
To the whisper of stars,
to the roar of her own becoming.
Fall in love with the woman
whose laughter has thunder in it,
who dreams not in still frames
but in revolutions.
She will not wait for your permission—
she’s already rewriting her own destiny
with hands ink-stained and heart-wild.
Fall in love with the woman
who speaks in riddles
and bleeds metaphors,
who names each scar like a constellation
she maps her past to navigate forward.
She’ll see beauty in your brokenness,
but she won’t fix you
she’ll challenge you to rise.
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"Nostalgia is the heart's way of whispering. You were loved, you belonged, you lived." It's the warmth of a childhood home, the echo of laughter now silent, the scent of a season long gone. Memories don't just live in our minds; they come in many forms a familiar song, an old photograph, the fragrance of a place we once knew, or the touch of worn-out clothes folded away in a forgotten box. Sometimes, they hide in an old identity card, a book with scribbled notes, old drawing copies or a dusty carton filled with pieces of who we used to be. We can never go back, but in these little remnants, we visit-if only for a moment.
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Art on banana
Sometimes, on a slow train ride,
With landscapes rolling gently by your side,
All your heart desires, with no grand plan,
Is to draw little dreams on a yellow banana skin.
A toothpick in hand, a canvas so small,
But the joy it brings is the best of all.
No rush, no noise, just a quiet art,
Etching soft smiles from the soul and heart.
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Love for her
It's never about grand gestures or expensive gifts.
For a woman, it's in the tiny sparks—the quick “just checking on you” texts, the surprise voice notes when the day feels heavy, the random funny video link that makes her laugh mid-chaos.
It’s the way he remembers how she takes her tea, or how her eyes light up when he calls her just because.
Those little things?
They whisper louder than a thousand poems:
“You matter. You’re seen. You’re loved.”
Because love isn’t always loud.
Sometimes, it’s just quiet consistency wrapped in soft effort.
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Gratitude in Every Breath
Don’t take the air for granted
that silent, unseen gift
which fills your lungs like lullabies
the moment that you lift.
Don’t take the sun for granted
each morning’s golden thread
is stitched into the sky for you,
a path on which you're led.
Don’t take the rain for granted,
or how it taps your skin
a whisper from the universe
that life begins within.
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One day you'll understand every tear, every delay, every detour was grace in disguise. Trust the process; God never wastes pain.
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India is not just a land; it is a living saga where echoes of ancient chants blend with the rhythm of modern dreams, where every stone holds a story, every river sings a hymn, and culture is not just preserved but lived, breathed, and carried forward as an unbroken thread of time.
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