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  • 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.

  • 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.