Living is a political act …

In the shadow of conflict, where the tumult of war echoes through the annals of history, there lies a stark reminder of our collective failure to converse, to compromise, to connect. “War exists where politic does not work…” you muse, and in this somber reflection, there is an acknowledgment of the breakdown of dialogue, the collapse of the very structures meant to safeguard us from the abyss of strife. The realm of politics is indeed predicated on the existence of opposites, a dynamic interplay of divergent views and ideologies. Yet, it is in the crucible of these differences that the art of … Continue reading Living is a political act …

I am a woman who resides in every line I write …

If the words are memories of love, then I write to awaken the love within me. Poetry is the tender embrace on the other side, a kindness preserved in the eyes of a lover. And if it is not the poet who translates the silences, and if poetry is a collection of endless possibilities, then who am I? I am a woman who resides in every line I write, even if they never find me, they reveal the essence of my being through each word. Even if I cannot be fully unveiled in each verse, I exist in a kingdom … Continue reading I am a woman who resides in every line I write …

At the end …

At the end, when the final curtain falls and the last chapter is written, what words will linger in the corridors of your mind? Will it be the echoes of a whispered “I love you,” or the melody of a song that danced through the chambers of your heart? When you close your eyes for the very last time, what will you see? Will it be a forest bidding its last farewell, or a sunset casting its golden glow over the endless expanse of the ocean? Perhaps it will be a kaleidoscope of memories, each fragment a window to the … Continue reading At the end …