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  • When Jesus, Krishna & Muhammad Rowed Together – A Dream of Unity

    When Jesus, Krishna & Muhammad Rowed Together – A Dream of Unity

    I had a dream…

    I saw Jesus… Krishna… and Muhammad 

    together.

    In a small wooden boat,

    not shining, not grand…

    just real, human… present.

    They were rowing 

    rhythmic, steady,

    like the heartbeat of the ocean itself.

    And I…

    I wasn’t a person there.

    I was the sky 

    wide, endless, watching.

    So I asked them…

    Are you going somewhere?

    They smiled 

    not with lips,

    but with light.

    “We’re visiting villages,” they said,

    “to see if people still need us…

    not just the idea of us 

    but us.”

    I asked, confused,

    Why a boat?

    Why not miracles 

    lightning, teleportation, god-speed?

    And they said 

    “We love the tides.

    The salt wind.

    The currents.

    The way marine life rises and falls 

    as if even the ocean breathes prayer.”

    “This journey…

    is not only for humans.

    It is for every living being

    that shares this blue home.”

    Then they looked at me 

    no separation,

    no superiority.

    Just love.

    Just oneness.

    “We want people to see us together,” they said,

    “Not divided.

    Not compared.

    Just — love.”

    I asked them softly,

    If people saw you all together…

    would they stop the fighting?

    And they whispered…

    “No.”

    Some will understand.

    Some will not.

    “Humans are incomplete without faith.

    And we 

    are incomplete

    without their hearts.”

    “We are messengers 

    of love,

    peace,

    and unity.

    Not power.

    Not conquest.

    Just — connection.”

    And I said…

    “You are compassion.”

    And like smoke dissolving into sky…

    they disappeared.

    But I still feel them.

    Rowing.

    Somewhere.

    Still loving us.

    Even when we forget to love each other.

  • O Wind — Spoken Word Poetry on Pain, Healing & Release

    O Wind — Spoken Word Poetry on Pain, Healing & Release

    Wind…

    blowing so strong

    would you please…

    blow away my pain?

    With a storm…

    a big one.

    The kind that shakes old memories loose

    like leaves in November.

    My mind

    infected

    by the worldly worm.

    It crawls, it gnaws,

    and somehow…

    it’s become a norm

    of its own.

    Loan.

    No

    not just a loan.

    Lots of loans.

    Debts like chains I drag behind me.

    Owes that echo in my sleep.

    I just want to rest

    just rest

    beside a quiet bay.

    Where water whispers

    and time forgets my name.

    They say…

    they say everything heals.

    But how do I sing

    with a heart this heavy?

    How do I lift a note

    when every breath is pain?

    Again.

    Same thing.

    Round and round

    a circle with no door.

    O Wind…

    come.

    Take these bitter moments away.

    Sweep them from my memory.

    But listen

    don’t leave debris.

    Don’t leave broken pieces stuck inside me.

    No splinters of what-was,

    no shards of yesterday.

    Just a clean sweep.

    A soft release.

    Or my heart will weep

    over things

    I can no longer keep.

  • We Work, We Bleed, We Breathe — But Do We Belong? 

    We Work, We Bleed, We Breathe — But Do We Belong? 

    The only difference between a goat and a human is this:

    a goat cannot protest,

    even if tomorrow it is taken for sacrifice.

    It cannot raise its voice

    beyond that meh-meh sound.

    But a human 

    a human can speak, can protest,

    yet even we become fragile

    when those in power

    push us to the ground

    just to stay relevant,

    to hold their seat,

    to feed their politics.

    And us?

    We don’t belong here, they say.

    In their country,

    even though we came legally 

    still they want more,

    more work,

    more silence.

    Let the company twist us like rope,

    pull us tighter,

    call it policy, not pain.

    Is this modern slavery?

    Maybe.

    Maybe not.

    The line is thin 

    and I am tired

    of rules that change like seasons:

    come, stay, disappear

    without reason.

    Oh God 

    make me a pigeon.

    Let me fly without papers,

    no documents, no borders.

    Light as wind,

    free as nothing.

    It’s alright 

    our sweat, our labour,

    it doesn’t matter anyway.

    Let us freeze,

    let us feel this breeze 

    maybe freedom is not a home,

    not a passport,

    not a country.

    Maybe it is simply

    the sky.

  • The Goodbyes That Stayed With Me

    The Goodbyes That Stayed With Me

    Is there a thing called goodbye?

    Goodbye from where…

    and from whom?

    When goodbye is not goodbye anymore

    it twists, it bends, it changes its skin.

    It becomes bad-bye,

    sad-bye,

    bored-bye,

    dude, bye.

    But what if

    just what if

    I don’t return?

    No.

    No no no

    don’t say goodbye.

    Because deep down it pinches

    sharp, like a memory with teeth

    right here…

    in my heart.

    I don’t know why.

    But that word sounds distant,

    far like someone walking away

    down a long corridor

    with no footsteps left to follow.

    Even if I know you’ll be here tomorrow,

    even if we meet again,

    next hour, next day

    still,

    goodbyes are not for me.

    I have collected too many goodbyes

    like old letters I never opened.

    Some returned,

    some vanished into air.

    Some broke me,

    shattered me into pieces.

    Some

    some assembled me…

    beautifully.

    And the ones who fixed me

    they’re the ones

    long gone.

    Maybe that was the real goodbye.

    The quiet one.

    The one you only realise

    after the door has closed.

    Maybe it’s just a word

    simple, ordinary

    but it carries weight, heavy weight,

    and my mind

    can’t carry it.

    Still…

    if someone says it,

    what can I do?

    I will hear it.

    Even when I don’t want to.

  • Put the Phone Down: A Poem About Finding Peace Beyond the Feed

    Put the Phone Down: A Poem About Finding Peace Beyond the Feed

    After a long day of work…

    all you really need is rest.

    Yet your thumb 

    it scrolls.

    Feed after feed,

    post after post,

    and your mind forgets how to rest.

    Pause.

    Breathe.

    This happened, that happened.

    This drama , that drama.

    Sometimes you get hyped like fire,

    sometimes you shrink like shadow.

    And suddenly 

    the world feels dangerous, loud, unstable.

    So loud that you even fear

    your own reflection in the mirror.

    You stare.

    And you ask 

    Is that really me?

    Who came home in my skin today?

    Which stranger did I carry inside my chest,

    wearing my name like a tag?

    But listen 

    you are still you.

    Not the comments.

    Not the likes.

    Not the drama or the trending noise.

    You are still you,

    as long as your soul remembers your name.

    Because out here 

    hearts are for sale,

    love comes discounted,

    and the value of a smile

    is measured in shares.

    Scroll… scroll… scroll…

    and the feed keeps feeding 

    madness, joy, sadness, fear.

    A whole menu of emotions

    you didn’t even choose.

    So ask yourself 

    should strangers decide your mood for you?

    Or will you slowly return

    to your own voice,

    your own breath,

    your own natural rhythm?

    Because peace isn’t found in the feed.

    It’s found in the pause 

    when you finally put the phone down,

    look inward,

    and just…

    be.

  • I Asked the Morning If It Was Fine

    I Asked the Morning If It Was Fine

    Oh Morning

    Have you arrived?

    With good news or bad news?

    oh forget the bad news,

    I’ll read it in the newspaper anyway.

    Just tell me what’s good.

    Is it going to be sunny today?

    Is it going to rain?

    Oh, are people happy today,

    or lamenting on some game?

    Oh, how much they wager,

    how much they lose.

    Oh, is it the same politicians they choose?

    Are they happy now?

    Oh morning,

    how are you?

    How can I help you become better?

    Should I exercise, meditate or yoga?

    Should I do tai chi,

    or just run like a cheetah?

    What would you like to have 

    Tea or coffee?

    Any other drink that would make me tipsy?

    Oh a little bit tipsy,

    no, that would be too early.

    I think I will wake up first,

    and begin a new journey.

    Oh I am completed

    my work, my job 

    I mark it new way every day.

    Just a bit of positivity

    isn’t bad.

    Isn’t it, morning?

  • When They Asked If I Was Happy

    When They Asked If I Was Happy

    They asked me if I am happy.

    I said yes

    I am very happy.

    I can smile,

    I can even describe

    the happiness that once lived on me.

    I was happy

    to be among

    old memories,

    okay sights,

    moments that felt

    soft and simple.

    I was happy,

    but I was also lost

    lost and lost,

    lost into eternity.

    Things have gone past me.

    I am simply a shadow now,

    a silhouette of nothing.

    I am just trying

    to make myself aware

    that everything is still there,

    still mine, still done.

    I relax and I breathe,

    soft and cosy

    for life is not only this.

    Just let me know

    when it all makes sense again.

  • Not Into It – A Quiet Goodbye

    Not Into It – A Quiet Goodbye

    Don’t drag me in stuff

    I’m not into.

    Don’t brag to me about things

    I don’t care for.

    Your chitchat

    your backbite

    keep it.

    Congratulate yourself

    for holding the heart

    strong like a rock,

    cold and sharp

    like icicles.

    You can’t touch me

    with your hand

    I’ll turn invisible,

    but indivisible

    from myself.

    I will be more than the smile

    I once shed on you.

    Don’t glorify the things

    I never signed up for.

    I’m not into it.

    Leave me alone.

  • Waiting at the Bottom of the Mountain — A Poem for My Friend

    Waiting at the Bottom of the Mountain — A Poem for My Friend

    when I saw a man

    skiing down a mountain

    on youtube,

    oh I remembered him 

    my friend.

    living in his own little, happy world

    maybe that world is his dream,

    but he chases it

    with more motivation than most men breathe.

    my friend

    is full of wishes 

    endless, flowing,

    one after another,

    and that never-ending list

    is what keeps him alive.

    hopes,

    dreams,

    goals,

    conversations,

    laughter 

    all climbing upward.

    as certain as the height of Everest,

    I wish one day

    he skis down from the highest point on earth 

    and my heart would feel lighter,

    happier,

    like skydiving with God

    with nothing to hold me down.

    that would be enough.

    my friend wants to ski a mountain,

    and I’ll be there 

    at the bottom,

    waiting,

    to greet him,

    to celebrate him,

    to hug him,

    to lift him

    for the dream he turned real.

    oh my friend 

    I would be so happy

    to share that moment.

    just name the mountain,

    I will be there.

    we will climb the hardship,

    for the beauty,

    for the shared view 

    my friend,

    and the mountains

    will smile with us.

    I hope he always smiles too,

    and remains at that height 

    free,

    brave,

    and shining.

  • When Dreams Become a Refuge: A Poem on Meaning, Memory, and Peace

    When Dreams Become a Refuge: A Poem on Meaning, Memory, and Peace

    oh dreams…

    if you come,

    come clearly.

    i’m tired,

    tired of this life drawn in tangled doodles

    scribbles everywhere,

    beautiful…..

    but messy.

    and all i want

    is one clean line,

    one path i can walk without tripping.

    sometimes i think

    why can’t i live another life

    inside my sleep?

    a second version of me,

    the one i never got to be.

    a place where i choose the people,

    not where life picks them for me.

    dreamworld…

    you feel like a bubble

    glittering, soft,

    and gone the moment my eyes open.

    and i wonder,

    when this planet is done with us,

    do we float into an eternal dream?

    no alarms, no gravity

    just drifting through thoughts forever.

    are we dreamers like Lennon believed?

    or fools

    trying to translate clouds?

    no— maybe not.

    Freud would say

    dreams speak in symbol,

    in soul language,

    in things we half-unders

    i don’t know what i’ll dream tonight,

    but i hope

    when i wake,

    no brother bombs another brother’s house,

    no mother cries for her child,

    no sky burns red.

    just peace.

    just rest.

    just one gentle night

    with no war inside or out.

    just one peaceful dream.

    is that too much to ask?