Laugh with the door open
not polished
not healed
just honest
Cry with happiness
not because you are weak
but because joy
finally found a way out
That is all
that is being human
-
-
What is your favorite animal?
She called me elephant.
Not as a joke.
Not by accident.
A name like that
is a hand on the chest,
checking if something is alive.
Elephants remember.
They don’t rush.
They love with their whole weight.
I grew into the word.
Quietly.
Skin thick, heart open.
I could have been fox,
sharp with excuses.
Jackal,
laughing at hunger.
Rooster,
loud about nothing.
But she chose elephant.
Which means
she saw something worth keeping
and still didn’t keep it.
We walked together
without a jungle.
No freedom.
No stampede.
Just circles.
She said
I like you
the way people say
don’t move.
She said
I can’t leave him
the way doors say
almost.
She said
if only I met you earlier
and time pretended not to hear.
So I stood there.
Large.
Unmistakable.
Unchosen.
An elephant
doesn’t beg.
Doesn’t chase.
It waits.
And when it leaves,
the ground remembers.
-
i wanted a hundred
everyone did
but i wanted something first
to stop
at ninety nine
to turn back
toward the crowd
to raise my bat
not for the score
but for the hands
that carried me here
fifty balls
ninety nine
i stayed there
not short
not unfinished
just present
ninety nine
was enough
to say thank you
to bow
before the number moved
to let them see
that i saw them
their voices
their patience
their belief
ninety nine
is not failure
it is acknowledgement
the pause
before progress
i knew
a hundred would come
it always does
when love is real
but ninety nine
belongs to them
their support
their trust
this
is the love of readers
souls who feed the bird
before it flies
raising leaders
by believing first
i did not stop at ninety nine
i stopped
for them
-
Think back on your most memorable road trip.
Bounces and hills
up
and down
sometimes
smooth as butter
I travelled a place
where even the camera
wanted
to shutter
Music in the bus
people dancing
hands
clapping
joy
even the driver
was enjoying the trip
a tiny doll
above the windshield
bouncing its head
like the road
was teaching it
how to dance
Sheep
and cows
buffalo
comrades
all greeted us
chickens watching
like they were already
deciding
our fate
a beautiful village
lovely people
kind souls
exist
only in my mind
now
-
What snack would you eat right now?
What snack would you eat right now?
Chips?
Chocolate?
Something to kill time between thoughts?
But if there were a snack of love….
I would not check the ingredients.
I would not read the label.
I would not ask where it came from.
I would eat it.
Immediately.
Let it melt on my tongue,
not rushed,
not shared,
not explained.
A taste that doesn’t disappear
when the room gets quiet.
A flavour that survives
the insipid moments,
the days that forget your name.
And even when it’s gone…
the memory of it
would sit somewhere in my chest,
recharging me
like a phone left on the table overnight.
A snack of love
would change how I show up.
And if there were a snack of kindness…
oh, I would stock up.
Packets upon packets
stacked in the drawer.
Anyone says they’re hungry,
tired,
ignored,
invisible…
I wouldn’t ask questions.
I’d just hand it over.
“Here.
Try this.”
Let them taste what it’s like
to be treated gently
without earning it.
Because the real snacks,
whatever we eat,
only make us full
for a moment.
But love and kindness…
they fill you long enough
to survive in this city.
They don’t just quiet the stomach.
They fill the heart.
They settle the soul.
And suddenly,
you’re not starving anymore.
You’re alive.
-
no they dont all look the same
faces shift
nothing stays plain
different frames
different skin
but deeper
than the shape
were in
how they think
how they act
how they bend
how they crack
some spit facts
no pause
some break pacts
no cause
if it makes sense
who am i
to judge that scene
who am i
to intervene
i stay relaxed
no weight on me
no mind thats taxed
i live my life
they live theirs
separate steps
crossing stairs
they might frown
when i draw near
still i greet them
no fear
peel the layers
take the view
maybe learn
maybe move
cant stay distant
not too long
people pull you
back along
not strangers
not stars
same ground
same dust
same breath
moving us
maybe you are light
they see
maybe not
let it be
news and media
pages tight
dont hold truth
in full light
once the mind
picks a side
what to chase
what to hide
choice is made
quietly
perception splits
softly
life is here
souls pass through
cant avoid
what moves you
not puppets
not free
somewhere
between
maybe
given time
given tools
no fixed script
no rules
how you use
what comes through
that parts yours
just
you
-
Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?
A square box
with a bump on its back
a little too heavy
a little off track
Tom smashed a Jerry
handed it to me
cartoon cracked magic
curiosity free
I wired it up
let the silence ignite
asked a typewrighter
Can you make this light
The screen learned to glow
sharp happy snappy
It turned into power
and I turned scrappy
It came with a drawer
wide mouthed and brave
where round little biscuits
would quietly behave
It breathed out heat
like it worked overtime
blinked once
blinked twice
said
Now its your time
Click after click
my fingers would race
joy doing parkour
all over my face
Each sound a promise
each tap a key
unlocking a version
of future me
Then days ran faster
years hit the gym
its brothers grew thinner
sleeker more slim
Muscles to circuits
weight learned to flee
progress on a treadmill
chasing speed
It made me a fighter
trained how I think
taught me to stare
and never just blink
Then one day it wandered
as all things do
to another house
another view
But what it installed
never left my skin
not software
not wires
but how I begin
Life with it
wasnt use or a hobby
it was art school
disguised as a hobby
Now its children are lighter
smarter more snappy
I dont call it a computer
I call it
lappy
-
What is your mission?
My mission
is to make a mission
out of another mission,
where the mission never ends,
keeps moving,
like a loop
that refuses to stop.
My mission is fission,
breaking life into reasons.
No lies.
No treason.
Just being part of a society
where joy blooms
every season.
My mission is to meet Tom Cruise
and ask him
what his next mission is,
because nothing feels impossible for him.
Maybe
it’s the same for me.
So I don’t take on
missions that feel impossible
to my soul.
Some days
I might fly like Superman
to save a child
from a falling skyscraper.
Other days
I appear like Deadpool,
sticks in hand,
stopping someone
trying to rob another person.
But there are other men
saving this world.
Maybe I should extend my support
to a parallel one.
My mission is simple.
To be
a parallel man.
I stay beside you.
I protect you.
I talk to you.
I keep you company.
I never leave
when loneliness arrives.
And jokes apart,
don’t be a nuisance
to those who choose solitude.
Even silence
deserves respect.
My real mission
is to see a world
where beauty overflows
from the soul.
Where compassion is everywhere.
Where hatred has no space.
Where forgiveness rules.
As long as I live,
if my writing makes a difference,
even a small one,
if it brings a smile
to a reader’s face,
then I am just being myself.
Just a little grace.
Maybe
I am already part of
someone else’s mission.
And if so—
I support
your mission.
-
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
Oh long life
I can stretch you like rubber,
or let you shrink
like woollen clothes
forgotten in a tumble dryer.
There are things to admire.
There are things that look dire.
But deep inside,
life keeps burning,
different kinds of fire.
I hate it when people call me a liar.
Once you sign a contract,
you belong to a buyer.
There are worldly trips on my timeline,
but holidays are pushed, postponed, denied.
Offices sweat just to give one.
How much youth
do I have to waste
to understand their complications?
If wealth could buy youth,
I would’ve worked like a dog
and slept like a log.
But life is long,
I keep thinking,
and suddenly
it’s short
the very next day.
I wish I had fulfilled her wishes.
Will I ever reach there?
Wisdom doesn’t follow you,
it chases you
one lesson after another.
Desire has no ending.
Expectations keep growing.
Dreams stack like unread messages.
Life keeps going.
Beautiful bodies
become relief for sore eyes.
You get into one chase,
then another,
then another day.
You don’t notice
when your hair turns grey.
I pluck them now,
one by one,
but the day will come
when grey outnumbers normal.
And I’ll ask,
have I gotten old?
The mirror becomes your enemy.
You shatter it.
Buy another one.
Same thing.
Maybe I can still do something good.
Help gentle souls
get back on their feet.
Food.
Roof.
Heat.
Life keeps moving.
Reels after reels.
Memories buffering.
I’m sitting in a rocking chair,
smoking the air of my youth.
Oh long life,
I’m still living you.
Thank you.
-
What could you do differently?
Once, my teacher’s DVD player froze
during listening practice.
She asked for help.
I stepped in.
Pressed a button.
It froze forever.
The class laughed.
I might have broken something.
But for a moment,
everyone smiled.
Since then,
I’ve learned:
sometimes the difference
is not fixing,
it’s staying kind
when things go wrong.
And I still practice that.
⸻
Once, walking down the street,
someone asked me for directions.
I pointed toward a hill
I didn’t even know existed.
I hope he made it home.
I hope I’m not cursed.
Now, when I don’t know the way,
I say it out loud.
And I still try to point
with care.
⸻
Once, someone asked me,
“How are you?”
I said,
“I’m fine.
Taking wine.
Better not to ask time.
My broken watch shows
half past nine.”
A girl in the park laughed.
She walked up.
We exchanged IDs.
Since then,
I answer differently.
Not perfectly.
But honestly enough
to let a moment breathe.
And I still do that.
⸻
Once, I met a man in his fifties,
wearing an orange robe,
barefoot,
his face glowing
like it knew something I didn’t.
I asked him for a coffee.
He stopped.
Looked at me.
Smiled.
Thanked me
for asking.
The difference
is not the drink.
It’s the pause.
The permission to be human together.
Now, when I meet strangers,
I don’t rush past their light.
I invite it to sit with me.
⸻
Once, on a bus,
my favorite music playing,
heater on,
world soft and warm,
an elderly woman with a dog,
and a mother with a child,
stood there.
The bus was full.
I stood up.
“Please, take my seat.”
That moment taught me
comfort is lighter
when shared.
So now,
I stand more easily.
⸻
These aren’t stories
about what I did.
They’re lessons
about how I live.
So now,
no matter who approaches me,
I carry
a smile,
an understanding heart,
and ears that listen.
Nothing to prove.
Nothing to take.
Nothing to fake.
Just showing up
a little more awake
than before.
And yes,
I’m still doing it.
