Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Night time literally brings me ominous and vivid reflections on how my day was spent. At times, it relaxes me especially when the day went my way (I have a very simple definition of happiness really... to stop thinking. That’s it…)but in most moments, my days feel like crap.  It sucks when you wake up in the morning and you start feeling that familiar asphyxiating feeling… that feeling of being so darn damned and yet, you don’t know the reason why you feel such. (or perhaps you know why, but you just can’t go around the wall anymore.) I am being sucked in by a void, where I remain static, unable to move and can’t fudging do anything ‘right’. I mean, that instance when you are so disoriented both in thoughts and actions and you just find yourself staring at blank space. It's fudge... I am being weighed down by an invisible force – I am held captive by my own demons. I am trying to fight a losing battle and the path I want to go to dims and disappears right before my eyes.  I...

There are moments when life throws us into chaos. Despite our efforts to maintain a positive outlook, some instances push us to our limits. Suddenly, it feels like we're staring at our own reflection, where darkness engulfs the itsy-bitsy light that we are so desperately trying to ignite. It's disheartening...  In this state of condemnation and self-judgment,  as we struggle to make sense of it all,  we find ourselves consumed by angst and painful realizations.  No matter how hard we try to mend things, there are unforeseen circumstances where destruction triumphs over creation. Perhaps it's due to our limitations,  our inherent inadequacies that we persist in trying to fix what's broken. But more often than not, our attempts only result in shattering it further, leaving us with countless irreparable fragments.  Maybe they're right;  I seem to destroy everything I touch. I can't help but question what is wrong with me. I feel like a forsaken soul, ...

In the dark, silent hours of the night, As I cling to a bottle of solace, My heart speaks with a resounding voice, Echoing louder than the world's noise.   I could shatter a picture frame with force, Reduce it to fragments of shattered glass, But the agony that consumes my soul, Beats with a heavy, incessant pulse.   I could burn every memory to ash, Watch them vanish into wispy smoke, But the pain in my chest persists, Refusing to leave or be revoked.   I could erase her height from the wall, Efface every trace of her existence, But the void that she left behind, Is an indelible wound that resists.   I could beat a punching bag until it breaks, Until bruises cover every inch of skin, But the ache within my shattered heart, Is a battle that I simply can't win.   I could spend an entire day with a friend, Wrenching sobs from my chest until my voice is gone, But the magnitude of my loss remains, A weight that...

To seek belonging is to find yourself naked in the gaze of others, exposed not in your strength, but in your fragility. It is not the comfortable proximity of others that makes us feel connected, but the shared weight of our suffering. This is the irony of human existence—our need to belong can only be truly fulfilled when we allow ourselves to belong to our deepest wounds. Only in the acknowledgment of these scars, in the rawness of their truth, do we find the soft soil in which connection can root. It’s not the polished moments of joy that knit us together, but the fractured edges of sorrow, vulnerability, and brokenness. The kind of intimacy we yearn for—real, deep, enduring—emerges only when we stand in the darkness of our pain, not pretending to be whole, but embracing the cracks and fissures that make us who we are. But suffering is no easy companion. It doesn't offer comfort or quick relief. It pulls you into itself like a void, asking you to surrender pieces of yourself un...

Leaving all the noise that surrounds the world Admonishing the fear that leaves me curled, Battered heart still shouts your name, Yearning to forget the memories of our flame. Running away from Pandora’s tragic box, Irrelevant hope in fixing all those cracks, No hope in miracles, no hope in bliss, Tampered memories, ending with a kiss. How I miss the moments we were together, I yearn for the walks in a foggy weather, No more soft hands that I hold so tender, Even that chaotically structured hair, I remember! Unspoken emotions behind those light brown eyes, Nostalgic visions of your laughs, grunts and sighs, I remember how you used to cuddle me, Vestigial love killed by a malevolent destiny. Every promise I made to you won’t cease, Right in this very place where we found our peace, Strapped on a promise, I pray for you happiness Even if I descent to an ineffable madness.

There’s a quiet cruelty in beginnings without ends. Books left to gather dust, their pages folded in half like promises I couldn’t keep. Poems that start with fire but die in silence, suffocated by my own hesitation. Plans drawn in the dirt, erased by the wind before they could ever root. It’s not laziness, exactly. It’s more like a slow unraveling—each unfinished thing a wound that never fully scars. I wonder if the weight of what I never finish is heavier than what I see through to the end. Maybe it is. To start is to hope, but to not finish is to understand your limits—your fractures, your quiet surrender. I’m an expert at the halfway point, the “almost there,” the shadow of completion that never quite arrives. Because finishing means facing what I’ve become—a mosaic of broken intentions and fading dreams. Sometimes I think the parts I abandon tell more truth than the polished whole. The silence between chapters screams louder than any ending ever could. I’m not afraid of failu...