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  • One Night to Prove – A Spoken Word Cinematic Monologue

    One Night to Prove – A Spoken Word Cinematic Monologue

    They said

    “You’re selected.”

    Two words.

    Heavy enough to shake my whole tomorrow.

    Ten a.m.

    Shooting set.

    No rehearsals.

    No second chances.

    Just…

    one night to prove I belong.

    I asked,

    “From tomorrow…?”

    They didn’t hesitate.

    Deadlines never do.

    Dreams don’t wait either.

    I checked my watch

    five p.m.

    Time looked back at me like,

    What are you going to do with the rest of your fear?

    Scooty starts.

    Evening flies past my face.

    Streetlights flicker like nervous thoughts.

    Home opens its quiet mouth.

    I wash the dust off my skin,

    but not the doubt.

    The script shakes in my hands.

    Not because it’s heavy

    because I am.

    Words spill.

    Fall.

    Climb back into my mouth again.

    On the bed.

    Across the room.

    In front of the mirror

    I meet a stranger

    who looks exactly like me…

    and I practice becoming him.

    Then one line stops me.

    Just one.

    It doesn’t feel like dialogue.

    It feels like truth wearing quotation marks.

    I look into my own eyes and say

    “Only magic can turn copper into gold,

    and gold into diamond…

    but love and affection

    they are magic themselves.

    They don’t just change things…

    they change the world.”

    The room goes silent.

    Even my fear listens.

    Tomorrow is waiting.

    Ten a.m. is closer than it sounds.

    And tonight

    Tonight,

    I am not just memorizing lines.

    I am memorizing

    who I need to become.

  • Positive Events – A Spoken Word Poem on Life, Balance & Self-Acceptance

    Positive Events – A Spoken Word Poem on Life, Balance & Self-Acceptance

    What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

    Things are alright.

    Yeah…

    Things are alright.

    A lot of positive events happened this year.

    First of all

    I grew a legendary belly.

    Not a normal belly.

    A seasonal belly.

    A football-in-the-soccer-season belly.

    Thank God nobody tried to kick me into success.

    No goals were scored with my existence.

    These days I don’t walk uphill too confidently…

    And I definitely don’t stand too close to cliff edges.

    Not because I’m scared of falling

    But because

    what if I start rolling with confidence?

    Strangely…

    It became a positive thing.

    People don’t bump into me randomly anymore.

    They calculate first.

    They care.

    They think about consequences.

    Even a hippopotamus once came to me,

    Put a medal on my chest,

    And whispered

    “My friends are fitter than you.”

    I still don’t know if that was an insult

    Or a spiritual achievement.

    Then I met a mystic.

    He told me

    “Relax. Don’t worry about the future.”

    Then he added very casually…

    “The secret path to heaven is first to die.”

    He almost enlightened me.

    Almost.

    One of my feet is still in the material world…

    The other is trying to pay rent in the spiritual.

    Balancing this boat is not easy.

    But I try.

    Because I can’t leave spirituality for possessions.

    And I can’t abandon possessions

    Just to become invisible.

    Balance…

    That’s the yoga I practice daily.

    Another positive thing

    I found a place where I can live peacefully

    With my dear one.

    Yes, I watch emotional drama daily.

    Matinee show.

    Evening show.

    Sometimes midnight reruns.

    But it’s real.

    Raw.

    Unedited.

    It feels like I never left the theatre.

    Only my role keeps changing

    Sometimes actor.

    Sometimes audience.

    Sometimes only… witness.

    I’m learning everything now

    Pauses.

    Breathing.

    Timing.

    Chewing techniques.

    Speaking without breaking reality.

    And then…

    The biggest positive shift:

    I stopped checking the mirror

    For permission.

    I stopped asking people

    “How do I look?”

    Now the confirmation comes from inside.

    Wear what is cozy.

    Be clean.

    Be kind.

    And ignore the unnecessary noise of spectators

    Who are not even on the stage.

    If something is comfortable,

    People shouldn’t become detectives.

    That’s not rebellion.

    That’s rest.

    What else?

    I can’t say I met an alien last night

    Who came in a spaceship

    And brought me a Christmas jumper.

    But who knows…

    Next time it might arrive as Santa.

    So if you ever see a strange vehicle in the sky

    Please keep it secret.

    You might receive sweets.

    And maybe…

    The last positive thing this year

    I got the chance

    To share my words

    With you.

    May your days be filled

    With quiet strength,

    Soft madness,

    And honest kindness.

    Thank you.

  • Golden Casket: A Brutal Spoken-Word Poem on Power, Wealth, and Death

    Golden Casket: A Brutal Spoken-Word Poem on Power, Wealth, and Death

    It’s always the same story.

    Everyone hears it.

    No one admits it.

    You are not alone, my brother.

    You raise a skyscraper

    with a snap of your fingers

    but you never built

    a single room of mercy

    inside your heart.

    You wear authority like armor.

    You baptize greed as power.

    You name the disease “success.”

    Where are you going like this?

    Time will outlive your name.

    Earth will equalize your weight.

    You and I

    we meet again

    as dust.

    You’ll say

    “I won’t rot in ordinary wood.

    I’ll sleep wrapped in gold,

    buried beneath applause.”

    Tell me

    what soil will accept you?

    What fire will recognize your rank?

    Brother

    I will take your

    Mini Cooper.

    The mountain does not answer.

    The lake does not applaud.

    The window only reflects

    a man

    running out of language.

    Take the key.

    Your words broke something

    I thought was permanent.

    I own more cars than memories.

    Choose one.

    And come back.

    You speak the language

    my money never learned.

  • A Plate of Love

    A Plate of Love

    They asked me,

    “What would you like to eat today?

    What should we serve on your plate?”

    And I said,

    “A plate of love…

    and a tall glass of kindness, please.”

    They stared at me

    confused,

    amused,

    like I had spoken a language

    they had forgotten existed.

    “Sorry, sir…

    we don’t serve that kind of dish here.”

    So I asked,

    “Then what do you serve?”

    They handed me a menu

    thick pages

    full of flavours,

    full of noise,

    full of everything the world uses

    to fill an empty stomach

    but never an empty heart.

    They said,

    “Choose anything you want.”

    I closed it softly.

    “It’s alright,” I said,

    “just a glass of water.”

    And suddenly

    my request felt heavier

    than the whole menu.

    Someone in the corner frowned

    maybe the manager,

    maybe the owner

    like simplicity

    was suspicious,

    like thirst

    was a crime.

    One of them brought the water

    and set it down

    with a look that said,

    “People like you

    waste our time.”

    I held the glass

    clear, quiet, honest.

    And I drank it slowly,

    because even water

    can feel like a blessing

    in a room

    where kindness is rare

    and love is nowhere

    to be found.

    I thanked them

    for the kindness

    they didn’t realise

    they had given.

    But I couldn’t thank them

    for the love

    because love…

    love was never on the menu.

  • Why You Can’t Please Everyone Until You Please Yourself

    Why You Can’t Please Everyone Until You Please Yourself

    I have nothing to do with crowds.

    They can please themselves.
    If one starts throwing stones,
    another will follow
    except the few
    who stand beside you
    with metal shields
    to guard your skin,
    your name,
    your peace.

    Yeah… but they are people,
    from different walks of life.
    Some people are frustrated with their own days.
    Others just want to play.
    And some…
    some carry a darkness
    they never chose,
    but let in
    through an open door.

    Oh no
    some are brainwashed,
    trained by some strange schooling
    that never teaches unlearning.
    No matter how much you hammer the mind,
    it won’t be ready to mould.
    They’re rooted in their thoughts,
    anchored deep.
    How do you shake them loose?

    Maybe if you hang them upside down,
    feet tied to a rope,
    they’ll drop a little kindness
    out of fear.
    Oh is that bungee jumping?
    Leave it…

    I want that freedom
    in my home.
    “Then live on a hilltop,” they say.
    Oh, I will
    of course I will.
    But that’s not the main thing.

    Because you can’t please a crowd
    if you’re not pleased with your own life first.
    And once you are,
    it becomes your choice
    to please someone,
    or to simply
    be yourself.

    Hard choice, huh?

  • Breaking Free From Daily Drama: A Simple Reflection on Life

    Breaking Free From Daily Drama: A Simple Reflection on Life

    Drama.

    Gossips.

    Tantrums.

    They keep on going,

    flowing like a river

    that never stays the same.

    Every day

    a different swirl,

    a different shade.

    But even a river

    loses its force one day.

    Even noise

    wears itself out.

    Still

    some people will peep through the smallest hole,

    act like a mole,

    tie their fragile prestige

    to a wobbly pole.

    And the same people

    oh, the very same ones

    will butter you,

    flatter you,

    sweet-talk you

    just to decorate their cover stories.

    Stories you never asked for,

    never expected.

    Because the pen

    oh, the pen writes every flavour.

    Truth?

    It gets spiced,

    twisted,

    seasoned

    just enough for the reader to stay hooked,

    locked inside their own

    mental cage.

    So flip.

    Flip the page.

    Keep moving.

    One page,

    then another page.

    Baseless dramas.

    Pointless gossips.

    Everyday tantrums.

    Look at the tree.

    It never worries

    about being chopped down,

    or bearing fruits,

    or sprouting leaves,

    or blooming flowers.

    It just stands

    rooted,

    breathing,

    processing whatever comes its way.

    Who are we, then?

    Go on

    you can say drama is normal,

    just part of life,

    and it’s all right.

    But no

    I’m not convinced.

    Maybe this is my drama,

    after all.

    And as a character

    in this grand theatre,

    I guess I need to play my role

    not perfectly,

    not quietly,

    but responsibly.

    Responsibly.

    Isn’t it?

  • A Poem for Anyone Who Felt Out Of Sync With the World

    A Poem for Anyone Who Felt Out Of Sync With the World

    When the world was chanting,

    “Baby calm down, calm down,”

    I was just trying…

    to calm myself.

    And when the world was singing

    “Baby, baby…”

    I was trying to grow up 

    the way my parents told me to

    Grow up.

    But all I needed

    was a little water,

    a little sunlight,

    a little manure…

    just enough to bloom.

    When the world was dancing

    to Gangnam Style,

    a friend looked at me and said,

    “Bro, you’re too simple.

    No style.”

    When the world was singing melodies,

    I was listening to metal 

    letting the drums shake my bones

    like some wild spirit

    had taken over me.

    When the world was praising Titanic,

    I was sinking in my exams,

    failing 

    bitterly.

    When the world sped up,

    I befriended the tortoise.

    When the world said,

    “You need to level up,”

    I got game over

    on the same level,

    again,

    and again…

    my life stuck on a loop

    while I sat there

    thinking,

    slurping ramen soup.

    When the world was gossiping about celebrities,

    I was sneaking outside my room,

    just hoping someone…

    anyone…

    would greet me

    hello.

    I was living inside.

    Someone was living inside me.

    It was me…

    or someone else.

    I still don’t know.

  • Through Storms and Blossoms

    Through Storms and Blossoms

    there are many bridges to cross

    many tracks to cover

    but hear me

    i would run through storms

    tear through thunder

    just to be your lover

    you can choose to be the garden

    or the one who helps it grow

    but remember this

    your life blossoms

    only from the seeds

    you choose to sow

    be the garden

    or the gardener

    your bloom

    is always

    your own

    i hope the sky sings for you today

    i hope the clouds dance

    just to make you smile

    i wish the birds

    could drop soft flowers

    to brighten your quiet hours

    may happiness greet you

    in everything you do

    and may this day

    be kind

    to you

  • Atoms, Love, and the Void: A Poetic Exploration of Who We Really Are

    Atoms, Love, and the Void: A Poetic Exploration of Who We Really Are

    Deep down

    I am nothing

    just empty,

    a hollow tube,

    nothing on it,

    some atoms,

    some molecules.

    What am I?

    Who am I?

    Oh this vicious circle of life

    go to school,

    college,

    university,

    find a love,

    settle down,

    children,

    stuff,

    stuff,

    and more stuff.

    Such a linear path.

    Why did I learn vectors?

    Why always A to B to C?

    No

    take me to Z.

    Yet

    nothing happened.

    Same job,

    same thing.

    Are you bored?

    No, it’s alright.

    I would like to be roasted,

    toasted,

    but not busted

    with this life.

    Oh, maybe there’s something

    interesting to do?

    Maybe you will

    enjoy it?

    Like what?

    How long can temporary things

    keep me happy?

    No

    keep it up with yourself.

    I need something else,

    but I don’t know what.

    Endless pleasure?

    No

    endless leisure?

    No

    rise above pleasure

    and leisure.

    There should be something

    something that defines life,

    that defines love,

    that defines my existence.

    There must be something

    unexplored,

    undiscovered.

    Come on,

    tell me

    what it is.

  • My Birthday Invitation: Come As You Are, No Gifts Needed

    My Birthday Invitation: Come As You Are, No Gifts Needed

    Please come to my birthday.

    Everyone is welcome.

    Come empty-handed 

    no gifts,

    no greeting cards.

    Just come as you are,

    with blessings

    I can open each day

    and be grateful for this life.

    We will eat delicious cake.

    Just wish me a happy birthday,

    and help yourself to the food I make.

    Maybe the salt or spice might be less,

    but there will be an abundance of love

    enough to stay in your memory.

    And truly, it’s absolutely fine

    if you come only with blessings.

    That is something I need

    more than any gift or money.

    Greeting cards are beautiful, yes,

    but they gather dust every year.

    Your blessings don’t.

    So don’t feel shy

    to come empty-handed.

    You’re celebrating my birthday 

    my day, my rules.

    If you wish,

    you can donate the money

    you were going to spend on me

    to someone in need.

    Let the poor eat with us for a day.

    And maybe, I pray,

    on another birthday

    another human will help them the next day 

    and the chain goes on.

    I don’t usually celebrate my birthday,

    but if you want to celebrate it my way,

    you are warmly, kindly welcomed.