For Those Who Are Fighting

In the depths of your spirit, a blazing inferno roars,

A tempestuous flame, yearning to explore,

Yet weariness ensnares you, a suffocating shroud,

From years entrenched in survival's merciless crowd.

You're not lazy, devoid of drive, nor ensnared in plight,

Banish such thoughts, let your spirit ignite,

For within your weary soul, lies a dormant might,

Waiting for its moment to unleash and take flight.

Survival's domain, a violent realm it seems,

Where relentless battles are fought in shattered dreams,

Every day a grueling struggle to cling and cope,

And exhaustion descends like an anchor's heavy slope.

But know this kindred, there's a difference here,

Between weariness and a spirit held clear,

You've weathered storms and faced your fears,

Now it's time to rest, to dry your tears.

The world may whisper, "Keep moving, don't cease,"

But listen closely, find your inner peace,

You've earned this respite, this moment of pause,

To heal your wounds and find your cause.

Embrace the stillness, surrender to its tender grace,

Reignite the fervor within, let passion embrace,

When the time is ripe, in triumph you shall arise,

With renewed vigor, seizing glory, claiming the skies.

So remember, dear soul, when doubts dare to assail,

You're not indolent, you're not trapped, you're not destined to fail,

You've endured battles, survived life's tortures and strife,

Now seize your essence, ignite your purpose, ignite your life.

Comments

A Blank Verse Poetry

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...

The Slow Death of the Familiar Lie

The 2025 elections just ended. Not with fireworks, not with riots—just the quiet unraveling of yet another chapter in our nation’s long and complicated dance with democracy. There’s something different in the air this time. Something subtle, like the way dusk falls before you even realize the day is gone. You feel it before you name it: a shift. Not seismic, perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye. But there, like a whisper at the edge of a crowded room. People have grown wiser. And no, this isn’t naive optimism. It’s not the kind of blind faith that wears campaign colors and chants slogans. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes from repeated heartbreak—from choosing hope too many times, only to be betrayed by men in suits and smiles. From believing in change only to see it morph into the same old trapo politics dressed in newer fonts. “Pain is a brutal but effective teacher—especially in a country where memory is often the first casualty of every election cycle.” But maybe ...

Scatter

The government says it shut down 7,000 illegal gambling sites. Great. That’s like taking a mop to a flood and calling it progress. Because this isn’t a coding issue. It’s a coping issue. You can kill the website. But if the hunger stays, the next one’s already in the queue. Gambling doesn’t thrive because it’s accessible. It thrives because it fills a void. And no one wants to talk about the void. Take Scatter. The poster child of this mess. Offered on legal platforms, monitored by systems that “ban” users— if their families report them. As if addiction sends out early warnings. As if people don't rot quietly before anyone notices. Regulation without prevention is just crisis management with better lighting. But that’s the trick, isn’t it? Make it shiny enough and people stop asking if it’s dangerous. And now? Gambling isn’t underground. It’s center stage. It's in your feed, dressed up as lifestyle. Influencers selling false jackpots like spiritual Kool-Aid. Fake payouts. Fla...

Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Search This Blog