The moon can never belong to anyone —
it rises for all, yet stays untouched by all.

Whose is the moon, truly?
It’s no one’s possession, only a reflection —
of every heart that has ever loved in silence.

We don’t sin for the moon,
we just sit beneath its light and remember what peace feels like.

The moon doesn’t promise, it listens.
It doesn’t stay, yet it’s always there —
like a memory that refuses to fade,
like forgiveness that doesn’t need to be spoken.

O my gentle achelle,
the moon isn’t a lover to be claimed,
it’s a soul that teaches us how to love without owning,
how to shine without asking to be seen.

Some hearts chase the moon;
others become its calm reflection.
Be that still water, achelle —
and let the moon rest within you.

-

She asked,
"Why so quiet?"
I asked myself,
"Do I even hear me anymore?"

She said,
"You’ve lost yourself."
I thought,
"Maybe I’m just hiding in plain sight."

She asked,
"Are you happy?"
I whispered,
"Happiness forgot me somewhere along the way."

She said,
"Why don’t you talk?"
I asked myself,
"Who would listen to the truth anyway?"

She asked,
"What’s wrong with you?"
I realized,
"The world taught me to wear a mask… and now it won’t come off."

-

At times I wonder —
who is this “me”?
The one I see,
or the one I hide?
I am a paradox in motion,
A collection of opposing truths.

-

If I desire you,
How deeply,
why do I desire you?
If you don’t come when I call…
Then let it be
so-
Because if you choose,
To come,
It’s by your will.
And if you don’t…
Then who am I,
To have the power
To call you back?
It feels,
Like quiet inside,
Like everything,
Has stopped moving.
No rush, no fear, no sound —
Just a slow ending,
Withthout noise.
Maybe...
that’s what peace looks like,
When nothing,
Else remains to be said.

-

I am tired now,
I am broken,
in the crowd of this world.
Now just hold me close,
show me something new,
a place where I am
not separated from myself,
not scared.
Where I may find some moments and feelings
filled with ecstatic pain and depth.
Is it possible that if I —
if I become me again...
that I could breathe
without the weight of yesterday, that my scars
would start to whisper instead of scream, that the silence
inside me would turn into a song,
that I could look
into the mirror and finally
see peace staring back.
Maybe the lost parts of me are waitin---not gone,
just hidden beneath the dust of time — waiting for one touch,
one moment, to remind me that
I am still here,
still whole,
still becoming.

-

Who am I, in the end?
To some, a clown of laughter,
To others, a restless fighter.
For a few, a quiet soul,
For others, a voice too bold.
For someone, an enemy’s name,
For someone else, a childhood flame.
I wear a different face for all,
But when I face myself…
Who am I?

I kept weaving my identity
From the threads of their words,
Kept searching for my reflection
In the mirrors of their eyes.
Yet the truest question,
I never dared to ask:

If not weighed down by riches,
Who would I be?
If not lost in the haze of fame,
Who would I be?
If not bound by the fear of judgment,
Who would I be?
If I were only me,
Who would I be?

-

Before You Speak Of My Days,
My Scars Or My Silence...

Walk Through My Journey,
Follow The Roads I’ve Crossed,
Carry My Burdens, My Questions,
My Hopes, My Wounds And My Fleeting Smiles...

Feel The Nights That Swallowed My Voice,
The Mornings I Rose With Broken Hands,
The Dreams I Kept Alive In Darkness.

Remember,
Every Soul Holds A Thousand Stories,
Some Written In Tears, Some Etched In Light,
Some That Will Never Be Told Aloud.

-

They say,
life is made of todays—
some tender,
some storm-torn.
But if,
at the close of each one,
my heart,
still whispers your name,
then even the hardest day,
was worth living.

-

I am the ghost,
of a story unfinished,
a lesson,
no one asked to learn.
I could have been,
an example,
yet I remain a warning—
that love,
can turn a soul,
into its own graveyard.

-

The world will never..
know the fire.,
I burned in,
because I,
became my own ash...

-