Lieya

I trace my fingers over the kitchen counter, watching the dust dance through the sunlight, and suddenly my breath catches in my throat - not because I’m sad,  just because I’m here. It’s exhausting sometimes, how much I notice. The way the neighbours walk their golden retriever every night, the quiet tension in my colleague’s hands while staring at the laptop, the heavy realization that everyone I love is aging in real time. I carry other people's days home with me. I read old texts just to feel how we used to talk. I scroll through old photos of us as kids down by the river, listening to my husband explain the lore of his video game, wishing I could slow the clock down with my hands. Some days it feels like too much skin to wear. Like I was born missing a layer of armor that everyone else got. Still, I let the world reach me. If living means I have to feel the whole weight of it, that terrible, fleeting warmth of being alive,  then I’ll take the ache. I’d rather break a littl...

The rain was hammering against the window of the midnight train when I noticed the man sitting across from me. He hadn't moved in forty minutes. He just stared at a pristine leather briefcase resting on his knees, his knuckles white from gripping the handle. I was trying to focus on my laptop, but the sheer tension radiating off him was impossible to ignore. When the train screeched around a sharp bend, his grip slipped, and the briefcase tumbled onto the dusty floor between us. It popped open. Out rolled dozens of small, hand-painted wooden figurines. Each one was meticulously detailed, painted to look like an ordinary person in a modern city: a woman in a red coat, a teenager with a skateboard, an old man holding a cane. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, scrambling to gather them. His hands were trembling violently. "It's fine," I said, crouching down to help. I reached for a tiny figure resting near my shoe. I froze.  It was a man sitting on a train, holdi...

  My Queen My strong Queen. 30th Sept, born is a female warrior on this sacred day, Breaking the silence of the world, With her cries - glorious, divine, gold. Growing up to be beautiful inside out, In the midst of the hardships, Girl, daughter; lady, sister; woman, mother. My queen, Carrying me within her, heavenly strong - for nine months. Laughing in mourning, Concealing all the longing, All the sorrow. Stand tall in a world of prejudice, Humility amongst the selfish. My strong Queen. She endured all the pain - endless sacrifices, Because she is the greatest - and will always be, She will win in this world - wherever she be. Because she fights with all her might, She is her own knight, Fighting mightier than most of the men. And because, she is my beautiful angelic Queen. My angelic Queen, I just want u to know that, Even when I fall, down on my knees, I will continue to fight, ignoring the bleed, Just so to make u feeling so, so proud with alacrity, To claim me as your greatest...

  Mother Dear my glorious gifts, You offered me a place to stay, Letting this soul to lay, Easing my hopelessness at bay. You gave me undivided love, Proving me the greatest treasure trove, That one's could ever hope, Making me questioned my worth. Is it alright to be loved by these beautiful women? Is it right to sleep peacefully under their magic wand? I may not know how to clearly express myself Because I am often being misunderstood Yet I want you to know, I'm grateful for your existence, And so, I will love you forever even when I'm in my 50s. I put my hidden gratefulness in words, Just so you understand that you are matter, Even when I might be stubborn sometimes, I might be rebellious at times, While the truth is, You means so much to me, Transforming me to be a better girl, A useful woman amongst the people in this world. I am proudly wanting to say that, These women are not just a mother, They are simply incredibly divine. _Lieya _