If they try to bulldoze your love,
let them.
Bulldozing changes very little.
When two souls are connected,
love does not disappear.
It reorganizes.
The same space can be rebuilt
without permission,
without noise.
Not with bricks.
Not with mortar.
Not with wood or steel.
It is made of love alone.
This architecture is different.
Quiet feeling.
Presence that cannot be evicted.
You don’t need land.
You don’t need walls.
Any space that matters
can be created
within yourself.
I am more than enough,” he said.
I know my feet are chained.
There is pain,
but things do not stay the same
when people take benefit in your name.
Oh, don’t worry.
If they are happy,
if that gives them good sleep,
let them cheer.
Let them have all the joy in the world.
What’s in a name, anyway?
Shakespeare asked that once,
through Juliet’s mouth,
and passed the question down.
Why are you so obsessed with your name?
Close your eyes
and see yourself.
You are only that
which a name cannot define.
I wasn’t trying to save the world.
I knelt in front of God.
I wasn’t asking for power,
just blessings.
I received one.
Now I will try to save myself first,
because a soul that finds its way
can turn millions away
from paths
that do not lead to you.
They said we are advanced.
Yes.
To some extent.
But tell me
where exactly does that extent end?
Because I’ve met aliens.
Not the flying kind.
The walking kind.
The ones who look human
but think in weapons,
talk in borders,
dream in domination.
They have better technology than we do.
Better excuses too.
We are advanced,
but killing your own brothers and sisters
is still our oldest tradition.
We are advanced,
but we cannot stop a war
even when its consequences
grow heavier
with every second that escapes the clock.
Some wars don’t end.
They just learn how to age.
They survive childhoods.
They outlive decades.
They pass trauma like inheritance.
We can reach space,
but we can’t reach agreement.
We can build machines that learn,
but humans still refuse
to unlearn hatred.
They said we are advanced.
Maybe they meant fast.
Fast at destroying.
Fast at forgetting.
Fast at calling violence “necessary.”
And still…
the soil doesn’t abandon us.
It takes our blood.
Our bones.
Our wars.
And quietly turns them into food.
No flags.
No speeches.
No revenge.
Maybe advancement
was never about intelligence.
Maybe it was always about gratitude.
About knowing who raised you.
So today,
before calling ourselves advanced,
we should thank the soil
that keeps rising us
even when we keep falling.
I have noticed something.
Most people never realise
that I can break again…
and still keep walking.
Maybe that’s why
even after they’ve shattered once,
they drift around
searching for the next crack,
the next fall,
as if collapsing is the only language
they know how to speak.
And this heart of mine,
still splitting in slow motion,
keeps asking me,
“What do I tell myself now?”
So I answer:
Every fragment I’ve ever become
held a soul inside it.
A presence.
Someone or something
that completed that moment
exactly as it was meant to be.
Like a puzzle
that pretends to be chaos
until one day it doesn’t.
And the truth is,
I’m a puzzle too.
Not the easy kind.
Not the kind with a picture on the box.
Just pieces.
Just silence.
Just the slow discovery
of what fits where.
And when life turns you
into your own riddle,
you stop hunting for answers
outside your skin.
You start stepping out
from the inside.
Piece by piece,
clearer than yesterday.
This is how I rise:
not by pretending I never broke,
but by realizing
I was never ruined.
Only rearranged.
And I walk ahead.
I carry whatever pieces stay.
Even unfinished, I am still becoming.
I am becoming the whole thing I was meant to be.
My friend asked me,
what motivates you most?
I said,
nothing.
My consciousness flows like a river,
naturally.
I don’t chase words.
I let them arrive.
I write what passes through my mind,
as it passes.
If it is a divine gift,
I accept it.
It makes me blissful.
And from that bliss,
I began to write.
They arrived at the destination
without speaking,
without exchanging anything.
Because the destination
was still far away
in their minds.
But in their hearts,
they believed
they had arrived.
They set their burdens down,
felt their shoulders loosen,
light for a moment.
Then incompleteness returns.
It follows you,
pulls you downward,
deeper,
and deeper still.
Until someone shakes you awake.
And you rise,
wondering,
was I dreaming?
You can be happy now.
Not tomorrow.
Not after fixing everything.
Now.
Smile
the kind that doesn’t ask permission.
Laugh
even if it surprises you.
Dance
not like a star
but like someone
finally alone
with their own body.
Let the sky
watch you
without judging.
Let the wind pass by
and not explain yourself to it.
You don’t owe the universe
a performance.
Be one
with the person
who wakes up inside you
every morning
before your name does.
You call it your soul.
I call it
the one who waits.
When that soul
stands at your doorstep
unannounced
hands empty
eyes tired
would you open the door
or pretend
you are not home?
The door of my heart
is not always open.
It closes
on busy days.
On loud nights.
On days I forget myself.
But on weekends
and slow holidays
when time loosens its grip
I leave it unlocked.
No conditions.
No explanations.
If you’re coming to stay
come gently.
This is where the quiet things live.
The unfinished dreams.
The soft fears.
The beautiful mess.
If you’re looking for beauty
you won’t find perfection here.
You’ll find
someone
still choosing to let themselves in.
Just like you.
I told you
I would pay your debt…
and give you freedom.
Not
to buy
your love.
Freedom
should never
come with receipts.
But if love never comes…
if my name
never finds a home
in your mouth,
if my absence
feels lighter
than my presence…
then let me remain
the debt
you never finish repaying.
Not in money.
In memory.
In the quiet moments
when freedom asks you
who
paid
its price.
Some people…
teach you how to smile
when you had forgotten
how to smile.
Some people…
don’t teach you to cry.
You just see them crying.
And somehow
you learn.
Some people hold your hand
and leave
too soon.
It’s alright.
If they held me any longer
they wouldn’t have reached
their destination.
Some people come and ask,
“Are you alright?”
And while you are explaining
what happened…
they are already
walking away,
turning into
distance.
Some people praise
how good you look,
and in the same breath
they want something from you.
Their compliments
are hooks.
Your story stays hidden.
They only read
the cover
of your book.
Some people inspire you
to build a rocket,
to leave the ground,
to touch space…
And the very next day
they change direction
because a cat
crossed their path.
Some people invite you
with such a warm smile
you feel like leaving with them.
But when you arrive
their minds are crowded.
Locked.
No space to sit.
So much clutter.
So much chatter.
Words melting,
like butter…
but saying
nothing.
And some people…
never say anything.
They stay distant.
Smile from a corner.
Pray for you.
They never come too close.
You won’t remember them,
because they never ask
for anything.
Except one call
when you are not well.
