Whispers of the Unseen

In the hallowed corridors of childhood, I discovered secrets—the kind that shimmer like dew-kissed spiderwebs at dawn. My hands, once tangible and solid, would vanish when I least expected. They’d slip through the veil between reality and wonder, leaving me a mere observer in my own tale. And oh, the toys—they harbored mischief. When the room darkened, they stirred, their wooden limbs creaking. Tin soldiers marched, porcelain dolls pirouetted, and plush animals whispered secrets. I’d lie there, eyes wide, watching their silent ballet—a clandestine performance for my eyes alone. Stillness became my ally. If I held my breath, the birds … Continue reading Whispers of the Unseen

Memories of my childhood

To remember my childhood is to delve into a treasure trove of emotions, a symphony of sights, smells, and sounds that shaped the very core of who I am today. It is not merely a recollection of events or facts; it is a journey through dreams, fears, and insecurities that still linger in the deepest corners of my soul. I recall the simple joys of playing soccer with my brothers and friends, the familiar scents of my mother’s cooking filling our humble home. The aroma of garlic sizzling in hot oil, the fragrance of flowers in the yard, the misty … Continue reading Memories of my childhood

Child’s heart …

In the innocence of a child, the heart finds its haven, where small joys dance freely, unburdened by the need to conform to grander pleasures. Purity, with its narrow dimensions, holds within it a mystery, whether orchestrated by chance or the hands of distant gods. Our stature seems to mirror the very essence of our being, as if we perfectly align with the measure of our own shadows. To embrace the greatest joys and happiness, they say one must first welcome the weight of sufferings, untold and unseen, and to continually breathe life into our dreams, thus preserving our innocence … Continue reading Child’s heart …

I am being called back to my childhood …

I am being beckoned back to a time of innocence, where my fingers were stained with the colors of imagination and my heart was light with the weight of childish dreams. The memories that once danced in vibrant hues now stand as faded echoes, whispering tales of a forgotten past. I can still feel the roughness of the paper beneath my hand, the gentle resistance of the crayons and pencils as they brought my visions to life. Each stroke was a step into a world of my own creation, a world that now exists only in the recesses of my … Continue reading I am being called back to my childhood …