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Poetry I Tried!

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The wound was never That you misunderstood me. It was that You understood me completely and chose otherwise. The silence was never That you didn't hear me. It was that You heard every unspoken word and let it fall. The loneliness was never that no one came. It was that You knew the hour I needed you most and stayed away. The humiliation was never the joke. It was knowing You saw the bruise beneath the laughter and called it humour anyway. There is exhaustion in loving with both hands open, in building bridges with splintered fingers, while somewhere beyond your sight The verdict had already been written. The loss was never losing you. It was realizing You had already left long before my hands noticed the emptiness. There is a heartbreak in giving away entire seasons of yourself your patience, your faith, your unspoken prayers only to learn that in their ledger of importance, Your name was never written in ink. Perhaps some heartbreaks do not come from being unknown. They come from ...
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Their Perspectives!

Some memories refuse to fade. No matter how many years pass, they remain exactly where we left them, untouched by time. I remember that morning clearly. My father was trying to convince me to spend a year at a boarding institute that prepared students for the entrance examinations of prestigious schools. If I performed well enough after that year of training, I would earn admission into one of those school s and spend most of my teenage years away from home. I was eleven years old. My father sat on the bench beside our house, the one facing the living room window. A newspaper rested in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He spoke to me calmly, taking small sips between sentences as though giving me time to think. Each pause made me more anxious. I had always looked at my father with a kind of unquestioning faith that only children can have. To me, he was not simply my father. He was authority, safety, and certainty all at once. And I rarely imagined saying no to him. The problem ...
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