They tell me to leave the past behind,
for guilt is a chain that drags a man beneath himself.
They tell me to look ahead,
toward happiness waiting somewhere in the future.
But I wonder—
Why should I carry guilt for a past
I cannot touch,
cannot change,
cannot even visit except in memory?
And why should I chase a happiness
I have never met?
The past is gone.
The future has not arrived.
And when the future finally comes,
it will no longer be the future.
It will be today.
And perhaps, standing in that today,
I will once again look beyond it,
calling another tomorrow my salvation.
So then where does a man live?
Not in yesterday,
for it is already written.
Not in tomorrow,
for it is only imagined.
A man lives in this strange moment between them—
a moment so small we often forget to notice it.
We mourn what cannot return,
we desire what has not arrived,
and all the while, life sits quietly beside us, waiting to be lived.

Everyone teaches us to be careful,
To question every smile we see.
"Don't trust too easily," they say,
As if doubt is the only key.

But why doesn't anyone teach us
How trust is patiently grown?
How a heart becomes reliable
Through actions consistently shown?

Why doesn't anyone teach us
How to love without pride?
How to listen without judging,
And stand by someone's side?

Why don't we learn how to spread joy,
To leave a room a little brighter?
How one kind word, one helping hand,
Can make a burden lighter?

We learn how the world can hurt us,
Yet rarely how to heal.
We learn to hide our feelings,
Yet not how to make others feel.

Maybe humanity isn't a lesson
Found in books or grades above.
Maybe it's simply learning each day
To choose kindness, trust, and love.

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Everyone wishes you'd look at them the way you look at him. I never did. I wished you'd look at me the way I look at you. Then you'd finally understand why I stayed.

Keep a mirror in front of one,
The shadow cast belongs to none.
Memories fade, just flashes remain,
He listens closely to echoes of pain.

Eyes that bleed, a voice that sobs,
He hears the truth he once forgot.
Horror moves in a silent flow,
A painting forms, too slow to show.

Daydream, bad dream blurred in between,
He forgets the things he’s seen.
Diary open, pen in hand,
But can’t write of who he once could understand.

A knife now tight within his grip,
Where once lay tulips on a loving trip.
The mirror’s picture, sweet to vile,
Now reflects a broken smile.

Memories burn and circle back,
Do only the worthy earn a new track?
Walking with the ticking hand,
Feels like racing through sinking sand.

This is life where death feels near,
And even shadows lie in fear.
The flowers were kinder, far more true,
Still blooming here as I once knew.

Their beauty lives beyond regret,
While my own shadow can’t reflect.
They are the mirror I refuse to see,
Yet I reshape myself through who they be.

Wounded deep, I panic in pain,
Alone just let it fall like rain.
Bleeding slowly, numb once more,
Still waiting for the one I mourn.

I seek a hug I might not deserve,
A trembling plea, a shattered nerve.
I'm sorry please, hear my story,
Through the sound of bleed...
Maybe the reason was always me.

When hunger fades for what won’t last,
And fires of pride no longer burn,
When shadows we once chased dissolve—
The heart begins its slow return.

Like newborns smiling through the day,
Unshaped by fear, untouched by blame,
We feel the world in purer ways—
Each tear and laugh without a name.

Tears aren’t weakness—they are rain,
Falling from clouds too full to bear.
Each drop, a hymn, a sacred pain,
That cleanses more than we’re aware.

The child within still knows the path—
To cry when hurt, to smile when true.
It does not mask, it does not lie,
It simply feels what it must do.

So let ambition lose its edge,
Let silence be the holy flame.
The soul is brightest when it breaks—
And never dares to love the same.

Don’t hush the cry, don’t damn the ache,
Just hold the heart that starts to bend.
For healing needs a softer hand—
Not judgment, but a listening friend.

Happiness is not a chase,
It’s resting when the world feels wide.
Accept the fate, embrace the tears—
And slowly, you return inside.

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Tu sab deta hai jo main na maangu.
Aur jo main maangu...
Woh le leta hai.
Toh phir yeh hisaab mujhe samajh nahi aata.
Log kehte hain tu bahut deta hai.
Haan deta hai.
Saansein di.
Zindagi di.
Log diye.
Mauke diye.
Par jis ek cheez ke liye maine pehli baar haath failaya...
Usi par tera dil tang ho gaya.
Kya fayda uss daulat ka
Jisne mujhe kabhi ameer mehsoos hi nahi karaya?
Kehte hain tera plan bada hai.
Kehte hain aaj jo dard lag raha hai,
Kal uska matlab samajh aayega.
Kehte hain tu mujhse zyada jaanta hai.
Kehte hain tujhe pata hai mere liye kya behtar hai.
Par kabhi mujhse poocha?
Kabhi jaana ki mujhe kya chahiye?
Ya phir meri khwahishon ka koi wazan hi nahi?
Kya farq padta hai na...
Main kya chahta hoon.
Faisla toh aakhir tera hi hona tha.
Par mujhe matlab nahi chahiye.
Mujhe woh chahiye.
Samjha?
Mujhe woh chahiye.
Aur agar tujhe usse hi le jaana hai,
Toh phir meri chahat bhi le ja.
Yeh dil bhi le ja.
Roz uska naam leta hai.
Thak gaya hoga.
Yeh aankhen bhi le ja.
Har chehre mein usi ko dhoondhti rehti hain.
Yeh kaan bhi le ja.
Har awaaz mein uski aahat sunte hain.
Har notification par lagta hai shayad woh ho.
Meri neendein toh waise bhi tere paas hain.
Mere sukoon ka pata bhi tujhe hi maloom hai.
Toh phir sab le ja.
Meri rooh bhi le ja.
Kyunki sach bolu?
Main toh pehle hi usse de chuka hoon.
Aur agar uski yaadein bhi chubh rahi hain tujhe,
Toh woh bhi le ja.
Kya karunga unka?
Waise bhi har yaad ek zakhm hai,
Jo marne bhi nahi deta aur jeene bhi nahi.
Bas ek cheez chhod de.
Ek pal.
Bas ek pal.
Ek pal jahan main usse dekh sakun.
Ek pal jahan woh mujhe dekh le.
Ek pal jahan mujhe lage
Ki meri mohabbat mazaak nahi thi.
Par lagta hai
Tujhe woh pal bhi zyada lagta hai.
Kyun?
Kya main itna bhi kaabil nahi?
Ya phir teri duniya mein
Mere hisse ka ek pal bhi nahi likha?
Aakhir meri galti kya hai?
Mohabbat?

Is this what life is meant to be
kindness called stupidity

roasting seen as something cool
while gentle hearts are made a fool

trust is rare, it fades away
hard to know who’s real today

love gets lost in ego’s game
people chasing status, name

money feels like survival now
like it decides the “what” and “how”

still somewhere in all this noise
are quiet hearts and softer voices

• A fictional, female-POV short story set at a press conference. A journalist, aware of the speaker's medical history, asks: "We've heard you were in a coma — is that true? What actually happened?" Beside her, her husband is seated on the panel, suddenly self-conscious; he blushes and tries to hide his face behind a sheet of paper. She notices, gently takes the microphone, and decides: "Let me answer this." What follows is an intimate, dreamlike confession — not about clinical details, but about a kiss on her lower lip, an infinite dark room she ran through while unconscious, and the quiet, fierce way he held on to her hand and never let go. A story of love that persisted when words and consciousness couldn't, told by a wife who found her way back through touch alone.

EPISODE 2

And when I woke up...
Coming to reality: after a week my fingers were moving a little bit... and a few hours later, after the doctors did something and they went away and called my parents and him... everyone was there... my husband turned off all the lights so that if I woke up it would not hurt my eyes.
I woke up in real life. I forgot everything. I was in proper sweat...
And the first thing I saw was him. I cried a lot. I wasn't able to move. I was sitting on the bed, and I saw him. I opened my arms for him...

And guess what he did?
He already had tears in his eyes too.
He didn't hug or kiss me...
He sat near me...
Looked into my eyes for a long time.
Wiped my tears.
He wiped the sweat from my head with his handkerchief.
And then...
He guided me to sleep...
And he slept beside me too, in front of everyone...
He cuddled...
And then, finally, that same soft kiss on my lower lip that I felt in the coma.
For what I was running this long in my dream.
The same kiss he did before.
He was sleeping beside me, like how I was sleeping in my dream.

• A fictional, female-POV short story set at a press conference. A journalist, aware of the speaker's medical history, asks: "We've heard you were in a coma — is that true? What actually happened?" Beside her, her husband is seated on the panel, suddenly self-conscious; he blushes and tries to hide his face behind a sheet of paper. She notices, gently takes the microphone, and decides: "Let me answer this." What follows is an intimate, dreamlike confession — not about clinical details, but about a kiss on her lower lip, an infinite dark room she ran through while unconscious, and the quiet, fierce way he held on to her hand and never let go. A story of love that persisted when words and consciousness couldn't, told by a wife who found her way back through touch alone.

EPISODE 1

When I was in a coma... it will sound weird, but it was magical.
Let me start from somewhere before the coma.
So the thing is... my parents never liked my husband.
I wasn't married at that time.
How I went into a coma doesn't matter here, I guess.
But the funny thing is I came out of it just in a month.
Like, it's rare.
You know, I was in the hospital and my parents never let my husband meet me there, ever.
After a few days, he did a strong protest and forcefully tried to come inside. He did fights with the staff and all that stuff just to see me... and I guess my parents didn't have any option, so they let him come into my room...

What do you think? I was in a coma and he was the only guy in the room. What can the story be? Just about him? But somehow he includes me...
As much as I know, he had tears in his eyes, of course.
The doctor said I'm in a coma but they aren't sure for how long... it can be a few hours, weeks, months, years, or forever.
And they asked not to pressure me or it will be risky.
She can feel and hear you, but can't compile or understand anything in her mind.

He came near me... slowly.
He didn't have enough time in the room, by the way.
And he whispered in my ears that... "When you come back... will you love me?"

Of course, I didn't understand anything. I just heard what he said... I didn't react to anything, but I just remembered what he said a little bit... not clear.
After the whisper... he kissed on my lower lip softly... and then he had to leave me.
He waited for the staff, if they would warn him... till then he was there, holding me... keep whispering my name in my ears with his every single deep breath, which I was able to feel.

In my mind, my brain still didn't react to anything.
But I felt that touch on my lip.
I didn't know from where I was feeling this.
But it felt good... I wanted to explore it more.
I was just in a dream, trapped. I was not able to move at all.
But I ran in my dream, in a dark infinite room, to catch him. I wanted to feel it back... I remembered what he said. I wanted to answer.
I slowly started feeling regret, guilt, and all, because he just disappeared somewhere.
I kept running to him in my closed eyes.
I tried to escape the dream and that infinite room.
I wanted to move my real body now. Like, I started feeling it, but I wasn't able to move anything. I didn't understand anything — what that feeling is, what I even want to move, and how.
I just kept running.
But a little while later I stopped... I told myself, don't do this.
Feel yourself, girl... I slept on the floor in my dream. I imagined hugging him. I imagined that feeling again, and I slept in my dream...

I do not write to you
I bleed you out, line by line
Your name still burns beneath my tongue
a curse I whisper just to feel alive
You left quietly,
but your absence screams louder than your
words ever did.
The walls remember you -
they hum your laughter when the night grows too
still.
I sleep beside your ghost,
wrapped in echoes and unfinished sentences.
Every dream drips with your silhouette -
Soft, cruel, eternal.
They say time is a healer.
But I think it's a liar -
it only teaches you to suffer beautifully
to wear your pain like silk.
to smile while you decay.
I still wait for the impossible -
for the dead starts to relight,
for your shadow to return and ruin me
again
Because even now,
I do not crave peace -
I crave you.
And that, perhaps,
is the darkest truth of all.

Above the magical carpet of sky,
Below the tender glow of the full moon’s sigh,
Where silver light drapes over sleeping hills,
And valleys whisper secrets the night can’t hide.

He walked alone through the hush of stars,
Carrying an oath carved deep in his heart,
Not spoken aloud, yet louder than thunder—
A promise the heavens themselves could not part.

Every step he took bent fate around him,
As if the world learned his name in silence,
An oath not of war, nor of ruin or rage,
But of love that refused to be gentle or quiet.

For she was the reason the night felt alive,
The reason the moon seemed to linger longer,
And yet between devotion and desire unseen,
Lay a tension far deeper, far stronger.

He would protect her—no matter the cost,
Even if heaven itself turned away in despair,
Even if love and possession blurred together,
And right and wrong no longer played fair.

And on that night when the world stood still,
He carved his promise into eternity’s skin—
Not as a cry, not as mercy, not as grace,
But as something soft… and dangerously within.

Because love, when it rises beyond reason and fear,
Becomes both a sanctuary and storm combined—
And in his heart, where silence once lived,
She had already taken the throne of his mind.

Aur main chalta gaya…
Na daaya dekha, na baaya…
Bas chalta gaya.
Aaj pehli dafa samajh aaya,
Kuch jagah hum chhodte nahi…
Woh humein dheere dheere chhod deti hain.
Aakhri paper tha.
Bahar shayad sab hass rahe honge,
Ek dusre ke saath ruk gaye honge thodi der aur…
Koi canteen ki baat kar raha hoga,
Koi bol raha hoga “bhai milte rehna.”
Aur main?
Main toh bheed mein hoke bhi
Kab ka nikal chuka tha.
Do-teen call aaye the…
Mujhe maloom tha kis liye.
“Bhai kaha hai?”
“Ek baar mil toh…”
Magar ajeeb sa darr tha.
Agar ruk gaya…
Toh shayad ja nahi paata.
Isliye bas ek aakhri baar
Un raaston ko dekha…
Jahan roz doston ke saath chala karta tha.
Na peeche mudha,
Na kisi ko awaaz di.
Bas dil mein ek baat liye nikal gaya—

Funny, isn't it?

People cry when they are sad,
but the tears that confuse me
are the ones that come when we're happy.

A child cries when he enters the world,
and a mother cries because he did.

A soldier returns home,
and the father who taught him to be strong
forgets every lesson and wipes his eyes.

A friend leaves for years,
then walks through the same old door,
and suddenly nobody can find the words.

Maybe tears were never meant for pain alone.

Maybe they appear
when the heart carries more than words can hold.

When grief arrives,
we cry because something is missing.

When happiness arrives,
we cry because, for a moment,
nothing is.

And I think that's beautiful.

That the same eyes
which witnessed our darkest nights
are also the first to overflow
when the sun finally returns.

It’s my first time writing something like this, so yeah it can be boring. I want genuine reviews on this one

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Bohot logo ko dekha hai aate bhi aur jaate bhi,
Kaiyo ne saath diya toh kaiyo ne saath chora bhi,
Ek prajati hai namuno ki joh Nahi choregi mujhe kabhi akela...
Dost kehta hu unhe aur meri jaan bhi

Wish I could be with you,
when your whole sky turns blue.
Not just hear your breaking parts,
I wanna live inside your heart.

Wish I could be that light,
you search for every lonely night.
Not another name you knew,
I just wanna matter to you.

You’re like stars from where I stand,
close enough to hold my hand,
far enough to disappear,
every time I think you’re here.

Not like a falling star,
gone before it leaves a mark.
Maybe like the moon above,
silent… but still full of love.

And I keep looking at your sky,
hoping one day you’ll realize,
some hearts stay awake at night
just to see if you still shine.

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Kuch raate hoti hai...
Jinme neend nahi aati,
Kuch baate hoti hai...
Joh Dil ko hai cheer jaati,
Inhi cheezo se ubharkar
Apne aap ko kabil banata hai joh...
Manzil hai uski kamyaabi
Aur use koi mushkil rok nahi paati.

RAAT HOTI KITNI KHUBSURAT HAI,
KYA TUMNE YE KABHI GAUR SE DEKHA HAI?
US ANDHERE ASMAAN KO KYA TUMNE RUK KAR,
EK DAFA THEEK SE MEHSOOS KIYA HAI?
HUMSE PUCHO IN TIM TIMAATE TAARE AUR IS CHAMAKTE CHAND KA EHSAAS,
HUMNE TOH CHAND PAR SE UN BADALO KO HATTE DEKHA HAI.

Pata nahi me aisa kaise ho gaya…
Pehle me aisa kahaa tha..
Pehle sambhalta tha pura din naukri aur raato ko jaag kar apne khudke liye kaam karta tha..
Paise kamane ke khatir laga deta apni puri jaan tha..
Dost gharwale sab khush me bhi has kar laata chere pe muskaan tha..
Aaj pata nahi kaha kho gaya woh insaan..
Pata nahi kaha kho gaya woh insaan..
Pichle dedh saal se uski karta talaash tha..
Ab toh dhundhna bhi kardiya hai band sochta hu kho gaya woh joh kaiyo ki jaan tha..
Aaj me hi reh gaya hu joh pareshaan hu khudse kyunki chahta hu wapas wahi me jaisa pehle me insaan tha.

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What do you hate about yourself?

Sometimes
I expect a little more—
more than what a moment means,
more than what a person ever promised.
And I watch her laugh
in places I can see,
replying to everyone
like the world is easy for her—
like I’m not waiting
in the corner of it.
I know—
we are nothing.
just friends, maybe not even that yet.
no promises, no claims, no right.
Still,
there’s this small, stubborn voice in me
that whispers—
“just a little more… just me, for a moment.”
And I hate that voice.
Because it turns seconds into questions,
and silence into doubt.
It makes me measure my worth
in replies that never came.
It’s not her fault.
It never was.
She is just being—
free, light, untouched by the weight
I quietly place on her name.
But me—
I sit here
pretending I don’t care,
while checking again,
and again,
and again.
I hate
how something so small
can make me feel so replaceable.
I hate
that I expect
what I never asked for.
And most of all—
I hate that even now,
if her message comes,
I’ll forget all of this…
and reply
like I was never waiting at all.

Yes, I do…
Yes, I hate people—
but still wait for someone to understand me.
Yes, I like talking to new people—
but I’m afraid when it actually happens.
Yes, I want to go out with friends—
but I don’t really have them.
Yes, I get jealous—
of people in love…
of people who found something real.
Yes, I get jealous of my friends—
and yes, I still help them
like nothing’s wrong.
Yes, I want love—
I really do.
Yes, I don’t know how to find it.
Yes, I tried—
harder than I admit.
Yes, I still couldn’t talk to her.
Yes, I cry watching love stories—
like they were meant for me.
Yes, I want that life—
even if I don’t understand it.
Yes, I imagine her—
even when I don’t know who she is.
Yes, I love her—
in a way that doesn’t make sense.
Yes, I want to give her everything—
without even knowing her name.
Yes, I talk too much sometimes—
and then wish I stayed quiet.
Yes, I smile—
like everything’s fine.
Yes, I’m okay—
just not completely.
Yes, I feel alone—
more than I say.
Yes, I judge people—
and yes, I know they judge me too.
Yes, I’m aware—
of every flaw I carry.
Yes, she doesn’t know me.
Yes, I still build a life with her in my head.
Yes, I don’t want to wake up—
because she’s there in my dreams.
Yes, I get scared—
of how real it feels.
Yes, I love—
even like this.
Yes…
I do.

Every year,
there’s a point where I quietly disappear.

Not in a dramatic way.
I just slowly stop existing in people’s lives.

Replies get shorter,
the world gets quieter,
and eventually I learn how to survive without being looked for.

I used to think loneliness was peaceful.

Then you happened.

And now silence feels unbearable
because it has your absence inside it.

You come online for a few minutes
without realizing someone spent the whole day
hoping those minutes would happen.

You reply so normally,
so casually,
while on the other side of the screen
my entire mood learns how to breathe again.

And maybe that’s the tragedy of this whole thing—

you probably don’t even know
you became important.

Sometimes I convince myself
you’re just kind.
That you talk to everyone like this.
That I accidentally gave meaning
to something ordinary for you.

But then why does your silence feel personal
when you never promised me anything?

People tell me you’re unpredictable.
That your life is full of chaos, drama, people, noise.

And I sit there wondering
if my existence even reaches you
the way yours reaches me.

Because if I disappeared tomorrow,
your days would probably continue normally.

But mine?

Mine would still pause
every time your notification sound played
in someone else’s phone.

And maybe that’s why
I never told you any of this.

Because the saddest part wasn’t loving you.

It was realizing
you made me feel less alone
during the exact season
I was preparing myself
to disappear again.

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“She loved me once.
I didn’t care about the distance, I had your heart.
I was seeking your name in my prayer.
I search for you here and there.
Where are you?
This heart is unknown.”

Whatever I write somehow becomes true.
If you were here, asking me to kill myself,
I would do it without a second thought.
hoping you might regret it,
or I’ll find my peace anyway.

Kaash aise hi.. phir kaise bhi, hum milein har janam…
Kaash yahan bhi ho wahi subah, baarishein humein pukārein har dum…
Har subah dil wahi,
Har dua mein māngū sirf yahi…

Kaash yun hi aur waise bhi, koi aur hai kya in raahon mein…
Kaash yahan bhi ho woh tera hi saath, meri aankhein dekhein tujhe har pal…
Haan wahi naraaz sa,
Rutha hoon, manaao bhi zara sa…

Ajnabi… thhe ajnabi… hain ajnabi…
Aaj dil de, main lautaunga phir kabhi…

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Grief, after all, is not just sadness
it’s love, lingering.
It’s the echo of laughter that still lives in quiet rooms,
the memory of warmth that refuses to fade with time.
It’s the way your heart still reaches for them
in moments they once filled so effortlessly.
So don’t rush it...

Don’t try to silence what was never meant to be erased.
Let grief soften you, not harden you.
Let it open you, not close you.
Because in its quiet ache, it carries proof
that you were brave enough to love,
and that kind of love never truly leaves.
It simply changes form,
becoming a quiet strength inside you,
a gentle presence you carry forward.
And one day, you’ll realize
the space it carved in you
is not empty.

It’s filled with everything they ever meant to you💙.

You and I had once intertwined names,
My heart screams only yours.
If I had to pacify,
My blood is red, and white is yours.
Would you care if....
I am asking for just a gaze
Can you hear me?
Or am i lost

Empty roads and shining rain,
I was there, alone again.
No place left to find my love,
You stayed where my heart was enough.
No more heart—
I always knew.
So I let go
Of loving you.

I'm not in a cage, I don't want to be,
I'm not in the words you cared about.
I liked you once in this way,
I was happy and will stay happy.
Was this your wish?
Thank you.
And a love with…
Broken phrase

Do you know me? I was there,
In a red shirt and blue coat.
You had smiled, didn't you,
Seeing me doing stupid things.
Was it a smile,
Or am I fool
You forgot your pen,
Just take it back.
Isn't it yours?

Comfort? I don't want any more,
If you were here, I could hug you.
There is an empty wall, no light,
In silent night, no hope.
I crave comfort,
I was lying,
But don't…
Have you

I can't feel what I was supposed to,
I can't make it start.
Why do I even consider it,
I deserve nothing.
My only scream—
Don't hear it,
it will destroy me
I'm afraid

I want to talk about the recent controversy around a statement by the US president Donald Trump where he used the word hellhole for countries like India and China and how it spread widely across social media

First it is important to understand Donald Trump himself He is an elected leader who represents a large section of American voters but not the entire country The United States is deeply divided and many Americans including officials and citizens have openly disagreed with such statements in the past His style of communication is often blunt provocative and designed to appeal to a specific audience rather than reflect a balanced national position

One major issue in the United States for a long time has been immigration However the situation is more complex than it appears People are not simply divided between supporting or opposing immigrants There is a clear distinction in public opinion between illegal immigration and legal high skilled immigration Many Americans support skilled immigrants who contribute to industries like technology healthcare and research but at the same time there is growing concern about economic competition cultural identity and fairness

Some people argue that immigrants especially from countries like India reach top positions in American companies and question their loyalty or contribution This argument is not entirely logical because migration has always been about moving to places with better opportunities The United States itself became strong due to global talent and contributions from people around the world

When I read comments online I could understand the emotional side of this debate Even though racist or abusive language is not acceptable the underlying frustration comes from a sense of imbalance and insecurity This is something I can personally relate to as someone from Bihar In India people from Bihar often move to other states for better opportunities and face similar criticism They are asked why they do not improve their own state instead of moving elsewhere This creates a similar pattern of resentment and identity conflict

However this comparison also has limits Migration within a country and migration across countries are structurally different Within India people share citizenship and rights while international migration involves legal systems borders and geopolitical factors

Coming to the response from India many people feel that the lack of a strong reaction was disappointing but from a geopolitical perspective it can be seen as a strategic decision Not every statement especially informal or provocative ones requires a direct response India and the United States share long term strategic interests especially in balancing the rise of China Maintaining this relationship is more important than reacting to temporary political statements

The argument that if people are talented they should stay and improve their own country is emotionally appealing but practically flawed Global movement of talent is a natural process It often benefits both the country people move to and the country they come from through knowledge transfer economic links and global networks

Finally there is a concern that the United States is becoming more restrictive and less open to immigrants If this trend continues it could affect its long term growth and innovation However history shows that the US often goes through cycles of openness and restriction and policies change over time

In conclusion this issue is not simple It involves politics economics identity and human behavior While strong emotions are understandable it is important to separate facts from assumptions and look at the situation with a balanced and analytical perspective

Hey there, I have wanted to share something about my social feed for a long time.

My social feed is pretty normal nothing special. Most of the content is about trends, but a major part of it is also about negative things that I dont even like to see. Im talking about posts and videos about or against religion, political parties, countries, influencers, and sometimes just edgy, ragebait content. Whenever I feel like it has crossed a line and I cant handle it anymore I just reduce my usage of the platform.

But today, I wanted to talk about one of those negative topics specifically "Indian Civic Sense." Maybe I will make posts about the other topics later

Regarding civic sense, many influencers openly criticize Indian civic sense based on let's be honest a lot of intentionally flooded bad content designed to target Indians. Criticism is good and necessary, but there's a problem when a person from another country is openly performing racism against your own people, and you agree with them and start hating yourself as an Indian, or hating the people around you, that's not progress.

These influencers are hard on us but have a soft heart for foreigners, acting as if those places are the cleanest and most perfect in the world.

Let me share my own personal points and stories.
Since childhood, we have been taught not to litter on the road and to dump garbage in the correct dustbin. But honestly? Where I live, there is no dustbin. I have always wondered where the dustbins from the textbooks are because I rarely see them nearby. I feel bad about it. I try to find a good place to throw garbage, but the infrastructure simply isnt there. This is clearly an infrastructure issue.

Here’s another story where I did something that lacked "civic sense." On my first day at the gym, I was so nervous. I didnt know how things worked. A trainer came up put a hand on my shoulder and guided me inside. I was so anxious that I entered with my footwear on even though everyone else's were left at the door. After a few moments, someone noticed and asked me to take them outside. It was so embarrassing. But think about that from a third person perspective: What if someone was recording? Would they know my point of view? Probably not

Coming back to social feeds.
I once watched a video where a newly constructed bridge had just been finished and local kids were stealing the screws from it. Why did they do this? If I were there, I would never do that. But why did those local kids do it? They likely werent educated enough and came from a village background. I dont knownshould we just blame "civic sense," or should we provide them with proper education and resources first?

Criticism of civic sense is correct. But what you see on the internet is not always the whole reality. We need to understand why things are happening.

Littering in public places is obviously not as common in some other countries as it is here, but it does happen here. I am confident it will be fixed soon with enough education programs. In our education system, there has always been a focus on academic performance rather than on living standards, life skills, or the environment. Just for example, it's the digital age, right? How many schools in India teach the basics of cybersecurity? As a result, many Indian teens are becoming victims of doxxing, hacks, and scams.

The point of this post is to know the reality. Improve yourself first. Avoid the false reality of the internet. Civic sense is your responsibility, but its also a reflection of the system. Hating and blaming people shows a mindset that is ultimately not productive in this case.

Whats stopping us

galaxies painted with your story of light,
how you broke shattered into stardust,
how you helped me through the night.

i’ll call you mine, watch me when i do,
for even 3 seconds were enough,
to fall in love with you.

and darling,
i know it seems too far from the truth,
but trust me when i say,
i swear i told the stars about you.

Some wounds stay quiet for years, yet return at night, like unfinished sentences.
The past does not always ask to be remembered..
sometimes it arrives as guilt,
sits beside silence, and turns every peaceful moment into something fragile.
Even love begins to feel temporary, when the mind has already rehearsed every possible goodbye.

The present is the only thing that’s truly real.

Everything written every word, every line is a story, a myth, a memory trying to breathe again.
You can’t smell the air in a sentence. You can’t feel the warmth of a moment just by reading it.
And yet, if your words can make someone feel something real
If they can taste the silence, or hear the wind between your lines
Then you are an artist.
And that’s something to be grateful for, not afraid of.

But of course, no one tells you that at the beginning.
If we knew everything from the start,
We might never have picked up the pen at all.
Still, what you write. however small, however unsure

Might be the first flicker of light in someone’s darkness.
Even if, for now, they’re not ready to step out of the arms they’re in.

Image available on Discord
Image available on Discord

i told my friend
i stopped writing about you,
and it’s true, i know.

but darling, i sometimes want to try
of writing again to prove that the way i felt for you was strong enough to stay,
like the love i had for you was
strong enough to make you mine.

— writing of you a few more times before i learn to forget how

Test

It might be a debatable topic, but for me it was just what I saw, noticed w the every ounce of sympathy and empathy I could feel for those who faced it❤️‍🩹

Image available on Discord

It might be a debatable topic, but for me it was just what I saw, noticed w the every ounce of sympathy and empathy I could feel for those who faced it❤️‍🩹

[ written in an imaged state of mind ]

I smother daffodils between my fingertips,
Forever ignoring the scalding sunrays,
As they lap softly on my burnt skin
(Watch them tremble at the things I’ve been)

And soon, when dusk paints the sky,
I reach out for another page, another quill,
Another time, I sit by the windowsill
(Watch the day flicker when I write of sin)

Darling, people around me must find it funny,
Oh, how I live like a devil and claim that I’m a fairy.
(I held you like the darkness; at least I held me softly)

Your hair is woven through
The breaths in the air,
Darling, it’s beautiful,
But something’s just not there.

Watch the sky crumble
When it sees the way you smile.
Watch this soul be revived again,
Oh, you make it feel alive.

Awake since early evening, heavy thoughts,
My finger traces stars against the sky it never stops.
Nothing to do, so I write this down,
A paragraph that stretches to a mantra’s sound.

Unfinished, because someone has to see it,
My finger on the glass,hoping he might reach it.
I stare through windows,imagine his eyes speaking…
A name is screaming in my stare,if you could hear it.

They call me upset, quiet, not saying,
This heart is full I keep it from exploding.
Just thinking,if he heard me… it’s concerning.
So tired.But feel my heart it’s still not sleeping.

He stole my heart, but someone else stole his,
Bound by a chain, her gifted, heavy bliss.
This is my prison a blight he handed down.
Does anyone hear how my eyes scream without a sound?

Hold me. Just hold me. Let this heartbeat slow.
Please,make me sleep. I just need to let go.

darling,
we’re mature teenagers,
let’s be honest with each other.

i’ll tell you if you got
something in your eye,
and you tell me if there’s still
a chance you’ll be mine.

deal?

Sometimes I think about how the thoughts I carry today
sit in the corners of my mind
like shadows that never learned how to leave.
They grow quietly, shaping a version of me
I am not sure I am ready to become.

Even the smallest feeling turns heavy,
as if every breath I take
pulls up memories I tried to bury.
I let these thoughts settle
because I no longer know how to make them leave.
They breathe with me,
slow and exhausted.

Each day feels like another page filled
with pieces of me
that slipped through cracks I could not mend.
Maybe they are markers,
maybe they are warnings,
maybe they are only the remnants of moments
that felt louder than they should have been.

Sometimes I imagine looking back at all of this,
wondering if I ever learned how to feel lighter,
wondering if the quiet ache in my chest
ever softened enough to let me rest for a while.

I do not know who I will become tomorrow,
but tonight I sit with the sparks I once called hope,
holding them gently,
even as they flicker
and dim
in the silent rooms of my heart.

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