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  • Is There Really a Place to Escape Yourself? A Poetic Reflection

    Is There Really a Place to Escape Yourself? A Poetic Reflection

    Is there really a place?

    Where we can leave ourselves

    and come back with nothing.

    Is there really a place?

    Where we can park our feelings

    and return holding just a key.

    Is there really a place?

    Where we can play poker with fate

    and walk back as a joker

    maybe after losing

    you become one anyway.

    No, no

    I mean, is there really a place

    where you can swim inside your dreams

    and surface with a single drop of reality?

    Is there really a place?

    Where you can go,

    shout your lungs out,

    and return carrying peace like a souvenir.

    Is there really a place?

    Where you can meet aliens

    and somehow come back

    as a normal person.

    Is there really a place?

    Where you can go

    and never come back

    never come back,

    like you never existed for anyone.

    It’s not the “after you die” stuff.

    It’s serious

    if you know what I mean.

    Because sometimes

    coming back

    is the only way

    to cleanse yourself.

  • A Message to the Rain: Wash Away My Pain

    A Message to the Rain: Wash Away My Pain

    What message would I leave for the rain?

    Nothing.
    Just keep raining.

    But remind me only of the memories
    that don’t keep paining.

    You can rain all day,
    all month,
    or even all year
    no worries.
    I’ll buy a boat if the world fills up,
    a life jacket
    for me.

    But I don’t want to be
    inundated
    with old, aching memories.

    Yes, rain,
    you can be my everyday shower.
    I’ll bathe outside.

    Wait a minute
    let me grab a soap
    and a towel.

    What else do I need?
    A little bit of courage?

    Oh, of course
    if you promise me
    not to carry that sweetness in the air,
    not to carry that soft melancholy
    that once
    puffed my pain into storms.

    No… it’s alright.

    When it’s sunny,
    I will still remember you, rain.

    But please, please, please

    wash away my pain.
    Wash away my pain.

  • One Thing I Would Change About Myself – Honest Spoken Word Poetry

    One Thing I Would Change About Myself – Honest Spoken Word Poetry

    Daily writing prompt
    What is one thing you would change about yourself?
    View all responses

    What’s the one thing I’d change about myself?
    Oh man don’t even start… I’ve got a whole list ready.

    First thing
    maybe I should stop being too honest.
    Honestly, man…
    I think I just need a haircut.
    A proper one.
    Something funky.
    Leopard print hair, imagine that.
    Or a 70’s style
    but then my mom will open the door, look at me,
    and think I’m a time traveller who stole her childhood.

    And sometimes I feel like changing my eyes.
    They’re tired, mate.
    Tired of the same streets,
    same people
    who can’t even return a simple “hello,”
    not even a morning greeting on the way.
    But then I think
    maybe it’s not my eyes.
    Maybe it’s my view.
    Maybe people aren’t the problem;
    maybe my perception needs a service, like a phone update.

    The curtain in my room?
    Cheap rag, looks like its last day is coming soon.
    Still covers my privacy though.
    If it tears, it’s fine
    I’ll just watch the moon at night
    and pretend I planned it.

    My specs?
    Blurry as my life decisions.
    My eyes?
    Gone, man.
    Too many sleepless nights
    waiting for someone who never replied.
    Even my eyes were like,
    “Bro, sleep—she’s not typing.”

    Sometimes I think I should change my name to Rabbit.
    Then if someone asks, “Why Rabbit?”
    I’ll just say,
    “Because… this is my habit.”
    Great excuse, right?
    People will still look at me like I’m stupid
    but at least I’ll have a funny answer.

    Even my teeth
    my friend said the gap is big enough
    to hang an aeroplane.
    Aeroplane, mate!
    I was thinking maybe two Lambos could fit there.
    But Lambo is a dream…
    and here I am
    dreaming about fixing my face.

    And then the spiritual thought comes
    “Maybe I should be a spiritual guy.”
    But no, no… again?
    I don’t want to sit folding my legs
    pretending my heart isn’t running like it’s late for work.

    Am I hyperactive? I don’t know.
    I’m not Flash or Superman,
    but I keep moving.
    Because slowing down
    feels like letting life overtake me.
    But time moves anyway
    bullet train or walking,
    you can’t outrun it.

    Sometimes I wonder…
    can I exchange this body?
    Everyone’s obsessed with bodies these days
    but all bodies go to the same place, man.
    Dark thought, I know.
    What about the soul then
    can we exchange souls?
    No way.
    What’s yours is yours.
    Locked in.

    I keep changing TV channels
    and nothing interesting ever comes.
    But this life…
    this life is interesting enough.
    My eyes, my thoughts, my feelings
    just being me is enough.

    Changing myself?
    Easy.
    I can mould like clay.
    But no matter how much I shape or repaint,
    I’ll still carry this same guy inside me.

    The one who may not change everything
    but will at least
    be the change.

  • I Am Not a Traveller : A Deep Spoken Word Journey Into Silence and Meaning

    I Am Not a Traveller : A Deep Spoken Word Journey Into Silence and Meaning

    I am not a traveller
    I am the journey itself.
    A character in a story
    that hasn’t been written yet.

    I am the silence
    before a word is born,
    the pause that holds
    a universe inside it.

    No book carries my page,
    yet I live
    in the corners of every heart
    a meaning waiting
    to be felt.

    I am not a voice,
    I am the vibration
    you only hear
    when your soul grows quiet.

    I am emptiness
    yet overflowing.
    Unseen
    yet unmistakably real.

  • I Only Had Love — A Simple, Honest Spoken Word Poem

    I Only Had Love — A Simple, Honest Spoken Word Poem

    To you 

    the one who always dreamed big, maybe bigger than me……

    What else did I have back then?
    I kept asking myself,
    What more could I have given?
    I only had love
    But love… wasn’t enough
    to buy the dream you were chasing.

    What else did I have back then?
    Money?
    Money was like a distant relative
    never called, never visited.
    So I offered trust instead.
    But trust…
    trust wasn’t enough
    to buy your dream either.

    What else did I have back then?
    I could cook you egg curry
    the kind that feels like home.
    I could pour all my love into it.
    But again,
    love wasn’t the currency
    your dream accepted.

    What else did I have back then?
    Honestly?
    Only the things that stayed with me
    even when people didn’t
    my warmth,
    my prayers,
    my good vibes.

    If you wanted more than that,
    I hope you reached it.

    Cheers
    from someone who had only love and somehow that wasn’t enough.

  • When Your Face Looks Sad but Your Heart Isn’t: A Spoken-Word Moment

    When Your Face Looks Sad but Your Heart Isn’t: A Spoken-Word Moment

    Is everything alright with you?”

    Yes, why?

    “You seem sad.”

    Is it? Oh no

    I’m always like this.

    I may look sad

    because of my sunken eyes;

    they like to tell stories

    I never wrote.

    It might indicate something,

    but no

    I’m not stressed.

    Didn’t have a sleepless night.

    When I woke up this morning,

    my body wasn’t tired

    I was fresh,

    alive,

    like someone who remembers

    how to breathe again.

    It’s just my face

    gave up today.

    That happens, doesn’t it?

    I mean, I’m not an actor.

    But sometimes

    it’s good to wear sunglasses

    if your eyes are teary,

    or pretend you’re going to the bathroom

    just to wash your face,

    let the water

    negotiate with your emotions.

    Oh no, it’s normal.

    Many people cry

    under blankets at night

    oh, not me,

    of course not me.

    I can cry,

    I can fry my mind

    oh wait, it’s Friday, isn’t it?

    I don’t eat boiled food;

    everything should be fried.

    Tried.

    Dried.

    I’m not sad

    it’s just my face,

    my stubborn face,

    that refuses to accept

    that it is happy.

    Otherwise, you know,

    I’ve got masks.

    I can make my face

    a happy face,

    a festival face,

    a face that fools even me.

    “Oh, is it looking naturally sad?”

    Oh

    thank you so much.

    I rang the director and said,

    It’s the perfect timing.

    Shall we shoot today?

  • Call Me Cartoon

    Call Me Cartoon

    Call me cartoon.

    (it’s cool…)

    ’cause I’m not the only one.

    People walk around acting serious,

    faces like stone…

    but deep down?

    Every single one of us is a cartoon.

    Some stretch far enough to live in history,

    some fade fast 

    just a story,

    some stay hidden 

    like a mystery.

    And us?

    We talk like cartoons,

    we act like cartoons,

    we are cartoons.

    No transitions.

    No script.

    No warning.

    Life just jumps 

    cut to scene,

    cut to scene,

    moment after moment

    with no pause button.

    Ideas drifting…

    here,

    there,

    everywhere 

    like loose papers in the wind.

    Before all this?

    We weren’t anyone.

    Just outlines.

    Just sketches.

    But now…

    now we’ve coloured in.

    Now we’re cartoons.

    And sometimes I wish the world

    worked like that too 

    that war was cartoon,

    that murder was cartoon,

    that pain came with a reset button

    and a soft sound effect

    instead of silence.

    ’Cause when reality gets heavy,

    when it presses on the ribs,

    we do what we do best 

    we escape.

    We slip into the versions of us

    that feel lighter,

    stranger,

    truer.

    Yeah…

    call me cartoon.

    Call all of us cartoon.

    ’Cause whether we admit it or not,

    we’re all living these lives

    in bright colours and broken lines 

    real stories,

    real hearts,

    real moments

    real cartoons.

  • Climb Your Inner Mountain: A Journey of Bravery

    They asked me

    can you rise above yourself?
    I said, I can stand on the top of the mountain.

    They asked again,
    “Do you still think you’ve risen above yourself once you reach there?”

    I said, I think I can.

    How?
    It’s like bravery, you know
    to rise among yourself and climb that mountain.

    One must rise above doubt and negativity,
    one must rise above shyness.

    We’re all rising,
    but we must also uplift others
    give them arms when they can’t find their own.

    Just imagine
    you’ve reached the top of a cliff.
    There’s abundant food, water, and peace.
    If the one above you pulls you up,
    then together, you create a happy, helpful community.

    Yet if the person cuts the rope after reaching the top,
    their society is already infected.

    So remember,
    you must rise above your greed.

    “Oh, what else is there today to feed?”

    No crowds

    leave them.
    They follow the noise,
    chasing the glitter they’re fascinated by.

    But I
    I can’t be that magnet.
    Or maybe I’m just a weak one.

    That’s alright.

    All I want to attract is love, peace, and positivism.
    I want to be that aura
    that lights the soul
    for millions of years to come.

    Oh light
    just light.

  • Two Seconds Without You

    Two Seconds Without You

    Sometimes

    all you have

    is love.

    Sometimes

    all you carry

    is love

    love, love, love

    the only thing close to reality.

    Eminem mentality,

    questions attacking me

    Why me

    in this quiet city?

    But it’s not only you,

    other hearts breathe here too,

    in this quiet city,

    breathing life

    into empty streets.

    “Oh no… but there’s nothing much to do here.”

    “Well… what do we ever have to do anyway?”

    We are restless beings,

    can’t even sit in one place properly,

    can’t close our eyes

    for a minute

    a minute feels long.

    So take two seconds…

    Oh

    you lost my sight for two seconds?

    “You love me that much, dear?”

  • Day Person or Night Person? | A Spoken Word About Finding Yourself

    Day Person or Night Person? | A Spoken Word About Finding Yourself

    You know what…

    sometimes I sit there wondering,

    am I a day person… or a night person?

    And then I laugh because

    man, I don’t even know what I am.

    I mean… I’m happy, okay?

    I could be Superman…

    or Batman…

    definitely not a vampire,

    mosquitoes hate me and I hate them back.

    Night sounds cool and all

    but I haven’t even bought a mask yet

    how am I supposed to save citizens like this?

    And those evil clowns of society?

    Bro… I can’t fight them.

    I try to be compassionate, you know?

    I can’t hate people who love me

    and for some stupid reason

    I love even the ones who hate me.

    What a joke, right?

    But listen

    night is beautiful.

    Stars… calm…

    that moment when she stargazes

    and ends up looking at me instead

    I heard someone sing something like that

    and it hit me deep,

    like… yeah… that’s the kind of night I want.

    On a cozy bed,

    counting stars like I own the sky.

    But the day?

    Ah, the day is different.

    Seeing the sun smile every morning—

    that does something to me.

    Makes me feel like,

    alright, let’s go again.

    And if it rains and the sun hides,

    I’ll cherish the memory of it.

    I mean… why not?

    A good memory is enough

    to put a smile on my face.

    Bad ones though—

    nah.

    They suffocate me.

    Feels like someone locked me in a room

    with no windows.

    Yeah, I’m claustrophobic.

    I need space.

    Nature.

    Loving people around me.

    Cloud 9 type vibe.

    And honestly,

    I don’t want to force myself

    to be a night owl or a sunshine hero.

    I just want my natural rhythm,

    my own sleep, my own peace.

    Maybe I’m not day.

    Maybe I’m not night.

    Maybe I’m the in-between

    the morning that says “thank you for life”

    and the evening that whispers

    “you survived today, good job.”

    I’m just me.

    Chiseling myself

    with every experience,

    becoming stronger

    day and night…

    or whatever I decide to be.