in the coolness of the branches that swayed..
the children rushed 'neath the tree and played..
the scorching sun, shined from the sky doubling the heat..
and the overwhelming joy giggled in rhythmic beat..
the birds were humming as the silence broke..
the little feet stirred the sand in a whispered smoke..
the world moved along, cheering the joyful day..
and the buzzing bees took its flight in a graceful sway..
a sweet essence spread and looked untouched..
a mango fell while no one watched..

-

you throw your words like thorns again..
so weird and sharp with blame..
fierce in the attitude and approach in flame..
with the anger filling inside your breath..
I strain to catch a kinder thread..
it's difficult to listen, and talk open wide..
my heart aches when you've not tried..
things we said and did to appease..
come and speak with me in ease..
meet me near you and everywhere..
to trade your judgment, for my sincere care..

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in each other's gaze, they find comfort..
their deep bond, soft and warm..
goes endless behind the dawn..
with every breath, their world aligned..
through crowded streets and silent skies..
they share the storm and the sun..
like the two souls in rhythm..
moved as one in trust and time..

-

step into the places that only a book can take me..

-

hands with soft curve lines..
has a gentle pause..
where the stories rest and struggle tests..
light dances on the skin..
hoisting the fingertips speak..
without a sound..
her hand unfolds, a silent story..
pure and whole, something to relate..

-

It was a regular day at Tony's school when Principal Ben decided it was time for a surprise fire drill. “Let’s keep them on their toes,” he said.
At exactly 10:23 a.m., the alarm blared. Chaos ensued. Mr. Thompson, the PE teacher, sprinted out carrying two dodgeballs and a whistle, yelling, “SAVE YOURSELVES!”
Little Tony mistook the alarm for the ice cream truck and ran straight toward the parking lot.
The teachers noticed little Tony running and alerted the principal, Mr. Ben, who was casually eating a sandwich. “Was that today?” he asked, who later found Little Tony napping in a playground's water fountain.
Though a complete disaster, the planned drill revealed some key issues: unclear exit routes, urgent need for ice cream education, and enough time for playing.
The End of the Drill?
Lesson learned. Mostly..

-

to lift others when they're stubborn..
and adamant to have any hearing ears..

-

Emily believed dreaming big would always set her apart. Since childhood, she sketched her dreams into pictures sometimes in cities and in staircases that lead to nowhere. She'd always whispered, "You'll come one day,".
As she grew, Emily became a neuroscientist, studying dreams with precision. Yet, nothing explained why she wrote her dreams in the journals that sometimes wrote back reflecting the skies that weren't hers. One night, she fell into dreamt that didn't fade.
The dream was so real, and so was the person with no face. "You've crossed," the person whispered. It's not a dream anymore. Together, they walked through cities she had drawn years ago, which are now alive and breathing.
Time fell into her spell, and the dream world welcomed her like an old friend.
But a tug from the realms of life returned like a memory of unfinished, unfair life, of people who still search for answers for their dreams.
I've to go back, she grinned. She stepped into the river, carrying her between dreams & reality that echoed across both the worlds.
Dampness of the pillow woke her up, & there's a message scribbled in her journal with unfamiliar writing glowing and faintly colored that read:

-

Call me river, call me flame..
I chose to answer gently..
and be just the same..

-

My brain clock ticks with no further delay. It wants to rewind what did I wear yesterday & what did I do? And what exactly am I doing today? I stare at the closet like it owes me money. Everything looks just the same. I try one top, and the other one looks more appealing. So, the change goes on endlessly until I pick up something unwillingly. It is wrinkled and maybe even damp, but I refuse to acknowledge it. The breakfast in my bowl cools down in protest of being ignored. I leave the house unsure whether I'm heading to do something or just sit back and try to finish another episode of the series that I abandoned six months ago. Life is uncertain, especially when the 6am alarm rings, fully aware of the insomnia person it's interrupting.

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