Tag Archives: author

The Ant and the kingdom

In the forest of Halacin lived a little ant who had to work hard to store food for the winter. He would leave his little sand castle built beneath the tree leaves, go out into the forest and scavenge for food, but he was always scared because he was small. He was afraid someone would unconsciously step on him. One day he saw a falcon flying in the sky and he said to himself, “I wish I was that falcon. I would never come down, and I would never be crushed beneath these Halacin animals.”

The falcon flying in the air was a soldier of the kingdom. She had to protect everyone and in case of danger, she had to warn the animals of the kingdom. She was tired of flying and she wanted to kiss the land. One day while she went on her daily round she saw the lion and said to herself, “if I was that lion I would be scary and fierce, and everyone would run away from me. I would never leave the ground.”

The lion was the most dangerous animal, and everyone feared him, but he had no friends and he wanted to be loved. He wished the animals would see him for his personality, not the rumors everyone had spread around him. One day the lion was going home, and he saw the big-grey elephant, who was surrounded by so many people. He was jealous, and he said, “I wish I was that elephant then everyone would like me.”

The elephant who was the most liked animal in the kingdom was tired of all the animals around him. He wanted to be alone. He needed time to think for himself, but the animals would surround him and never let him go. One day he saw a tiny ant carrying food on his back. The ant was so small that he disappeared somewhere beneath the leaves. The elephant gaped at the disappearing ant and said, “I wish I was that ant. I would be so small that I could easily disappear.”

Photo by Nandhu Kumar from Pexels

But I am not God!

But I am not God!

I know, but you can be the answer
to someone else’s call
you can be the net
to someone else’s fall.

You can be the shade
to someone else’s rain
and you can be the salve
to someone else’s pain.

You don’t need to be a superhero
to wipe away a tear
you can be the courage
to someone else’s fear.

Look my love
in a world where you can be anything
I ask you to be strong
put down your ego
and for once be the melody
to someone else’s song.

I know you don’t have powers
but you must save yourself too
because only then will you help
someone else get through
you don’t need to be powerful
to help another soul
but if you can
then I ask you to be someone else’s cure.

Be kind, my love
Poetry book coming soon…
‘Curing My Venom’

Photo by A.R. T from Pexels

Publishing my first book…

I published my first book a year ago, on this very day; I wasn’t thinking right. I published it because I didn’t know what else to do with it. It was like one of those scenarios where you just want to get things off your chest. I wanted to get a book off my laptop. My book was rusting beneath files of essays, journals, lab reports, and textbooks.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. How do I get a book published? How do I contact agents? How do I reach publishing agencies? So, I did what any normal person would do. I cried. I cried more than I wrote because it was the easy way out. Because there was something comforting about closed doors, I didn’t have to worry about what was on the other side.

I didn’t write to get myself published. I wrote as a way of relieving stress, as a way to cope with the anxiety bubbling inside of me. It helped until I was starting to fail my classes because I wasn’t paying attention to them. I failed physics and then Organic chemistry and I ended up dropping them both last minute. I would open my textbook, lay it across the table and stare at it until my eyes would hurt. I just couldn’t force myself to read. While taking down notes, in class, I would start scribbling in my notebook, writing poems that no one would ever read.

It was anxiety that stopped me from studying. Imagine having a huge elephant sitting on your chest and you can’t explain it to anyone. Or imagine feeling like the walls of the classroom are shrinking and you’re suffocating. The pounding headaches, the tensing, the stressing and the losing weight. The more I suffered the more I wrote. Most of my pages and notebooks were filled with meaningless incoherent words. I would ignore everyone, skip classes, go to the library, sit on the carpet in between the shelves and I would write. Cry and write. Because I didn’t know why I was feeling this way. Why was an Honor roll, Arista student, who never got below a ninety struggling with passing a class? I loved physics and calculus but solving even the simplest equations seemed so complicated. I wanted to drop out so badly, but I didn’t and that caused more damage. There was one thing I learned though: when you suppress yourself just to fit in, you wreck a beautiful part of yourself and that’s what I did. In my effort to please everyone around me, I forgot who I actually was. I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and in that process, I forgot how many masks I was wearing. I’ve realized that now…

I’m odd. Weird. A freak. But this is just how I am. Abnormal. Clumsy. And I’m okay with that.

I’m peeling off my masks, and I’m redefining everything. I’m losing friends, being hated, but I’m learning to accept this part of myself. I’m okay with it. I think.

But through all that depression, all that anxiety and all those panic attacks, I wrote a 90,000-word page novel with grammatical errors and an ugly cover. I put it on Amazon and it was horrible. I had so many errors and the people who were supposed to have my back never told me. I have such awesome friends.

But the people I didn’t know and never met were more supportive. They gave me feedback and constructive criticism. I took down my book, got it professionally edited, made a new cover and I put it back up again.

In this whole process of burning and reforming, there is so much I learned. The most important lesson was to never give up. Fuck the world- but don’t back down.

But that day, a year ago, I promised myself that I wouldn’t back down, not even if the earth rumbled or the sky broke apart. It didn’t matter if no one read what I wrote. I would write because it makes me happy. Because it’s an escape from this world, into a world that runs on the tips of my fingers.

Link to my book on Amazon: The City of Saints

Lost path

I am a path seeking an unattainable haven
A refugee looking for a glimpse of peace,
On an island plagued with death
I am the first ray of dawn
That soldiers see after the end of every war
I am a wanderer of a lost craven,
Aching for a sight of shore

But the only thing I see are waves of pain
Drowning, mixing with the aimless waters of rain
The high winds are wrestling with the tides
The islands are bleeding and the sky is aching to cry

Everything is in chaos
Where should I go
I hear the thunders
I’ve lost my way home

Where is my direction
I don’t know this sea,
I can’t go on
Just come and save me

Thank you for your insults!

If you know I see dreams higher
than the sapphire alluring sky,
then why do you dig my grave
in your atrocious mind.

Stop tying me to these wounds
I’ll pull through all this pain.
Your hatred only gives me strength
to break free from these chains.

My flight has yet not left,
I’m dwelling my own demons,
the ones you planted in my desire
to keep me from my freedom

You’ve always pressed me down;
your laughs still echo in my ear.
They haunt me day and night
but remind me why I am still here

All your taunts trapped me
behind thick rusty bars of terror,
each day I would close my windows
wishing you could become better.

But I failed to realize that in me,
there’s a beauty you don’t see.
I’m elevating into victory,
where your harsh words won’t destroy me.

But now I’ve broken all those barriers,
the ones shackled in your disgust.
It was you who led me to this victory,
So, thank you for your insults.