Teach me to be soft

Teach me to be soft and nice. i know I'm rough for many reasons for that's what the way i am. i see nothing but uncertainties of my life. they inspire me to be soft, but i fail to be the one up to the expected levels of anticipated growth. i loved not, even a girl at least for the sake. i always wanted to fall in love with the uncertainties of my life and a girl of whom i never think and romanticise. i fear my future that i may fail to love her with the expected dreams of future life. i will tell her to tech me to be soft and smooth. but, i will never go through . I'm not much confident of myself. the reason why I'm rough and the way i am is nothing but i never romanticise anything in my life but the life itself.

Comments

Dead and Buried

We all leave something behind—not by accident, but for a reason we don’t fully understand. As though some cosmic law silently demands it of us. And we obey, unknowingly, yet unfailingly. We, fragile creatures, live not just to exist, but to leave traces of that existence—marks etched in time, invisible perhaps, but undeniably real. We come into this world incomplete, having left a piece of ourselves elsewhere. When we first take the shape of a foetus in the womb, something essential is set aside. And when we die, we don’t simply vanish; we begin a journey back—to retrieve what was once ours, what we unknowingly surrendered. But even in that act of return, we leave more behind. Our lives are full of quiet departures. A moment. A glance. A word. Our love lingers. Our memories settle into the corners of rooms. Our shadows remain stretched across places we’ve passed through. Our presence clings to people in subtle, haunting ways. Sometimes we leave behind dreams never fulfilled, words nev...

Wake me up...

Wake me up when December bells. until then, let me sleep in thy...

Unknowing

I choose the heart of darkness — not in despair, but in reverence — to immerse myself in its monstrous chaos, the womb from which all beginnings bleed into existence. I do not flee the shadows; I invite them. I slow the light, restrain it, keep it from intruding too close—because some truths are born only where light hesitates. I sense what is coming. The slow unravelling of the world. A moment when day and night lose their boundaries and collapse into a single breath. When direction dissolves and humanity forgets where it stands. Time loosens its grip. Space forgets its shape. In that hour, man will begin to speak languages he has never learned, utter sounds older than memory itself. He will see beyond the limits of his eyes, hear frequencies never meant for human ears. Perception will stretch, fracture, expand—until meaning itself trembles. And in that unsettling clarity, where fear and wonder merge, the truth will no longer hide. It will rise—not in light, but in t...

The Ballads of Gravity

Search This Blog