Tears, small drops of sorrow's sea,
Each a verse in pain's poetry.
They speak of tales untold, unseen,
Echoes of hearts in anguish keen.
In literature's pages, they find their place,
Lines of sadness, lines of grace.
Each tear a word, each drop a line,
In the saga of a soul's design.
From eyes they fall like gentle rain,
Yet carry storms of inner pain.
They shimmer with the light of grief,
A mosaic of anguish, beyond belief.
In pain and sorrow, they find release,
In the language of tears, there lies peace.

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The kind of toxicity you accept in a relationship,
somewhere defines your personal fragility.

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Crying, often deemed a sign of fragility, emerges as a reservoir of strength, a testament to the courage it takes to confront one's deepest pains. Like a river carving through the landscape, tears etch the map of our emotional terrain, revealing valleys of sorrow and peaks of joy.
A solitary tear, seemingly inconspicuous, carries the weight of unspoken narratives.

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In chaos's embrace, find solace and ease,
Take a pause, disconnect, let your mind release.
In fleeting moments, know your true core,
A few seconds of peace, refresh, restore.

Amidst the noise, hear your inner voice,
Plan your steps, make a mindful choice.
Unfurl your essence, let judgment subside,
What others say fades, in self-truth abide.

Don't be swayed by external decree,
Your self-perception holds the key.
If you see beauty within, pure and true,
Embrace it, for what matters is you.

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In shards of sorrow, colors blend,
Mosaic melancholy, a tale to send.
Broken fragments of a once whole heart,
Artistry of pain, a mesmerizing art.

Whispers of joy, now lost in hue,
A symphony of sadness, a palette askew.
Each piece a memory, etched in time,
Mosaic melancholy, a bittersweet rhyme.

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Chehre pe guroor, aankhon mein naamee chhupi,
Duniya se hum, dil ki baat chehre se chhupa dete hain.
Lekin aankhein, kahani bayan karti hain,
Bhool jaate hain hum, ek ek cheez keh jaati hai.

Aanjaan log, ek pal mein sab kuch samajh jaate hain,
Jahan kareebi log, dil ki gehraaiyon ko nahi samajh paate.
Darshaana chahte hain hum kuch aur, lekin aankhen sab keh deti hain,
Humare andar chhupi raahein, kisi aur tak pahuncha deti hain.

Chehre ka pardah, dil ki dastaan chhupa sakti hai,
Magar aankhon ki zubaan, sachai ko sabke saamne laa deti hai.
Is duniya ki bheed mein, hum khud ko kho jaate hain,
Aankhon ki gehraai, humare asli roop ko saaf dikhla deti hain.

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In the realm of cinema, a promise is made,
No matter life's obstacles, joy will cascade.
But reality lacks trailers, swift and bright,
Our narratives complex, no 3-hour flight.

A dual soul, part hopeless romantic's dream,
Yet, a realist's touch in the chaotic stream.
Happy, perhaps, are those who attain,
Yet, the chase continues, a cycle sustained.

Hearts break, tears flow, and rivers swell,
Yet, from the abyss, a resilient story to tell.
No true ending, just a continuous quest,
For more, more, more – an eternal zest.

Happy endings, a spectrum undefined,
Varied tales, in each heart enshrined.
Do they exist or just fragments we weave?
In life's vast tapestry, what do we believe?

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Beneath painted smiles, a world unseen,
Sad interiors, veiled behind a screen.
Coping mechanisms, whispers in the dark,
Loneliness masked, a silent spark.

In this generation, a masquerade,
Faking joy, emotions carefully laid.
A dance with shadows, forgetting to live,
Truth locked away, the heart doesn't forgive.

The jar overflows, emotions cascade,
A burst of truth, in silence, we're swayed.
Unseen ripples affect those we hold dear,
Suppressing feelings, we're entwined in fear.

Faking it so well, fooling our own soul,
Midnight's clock tolls, a truth takes its toll.
Alone with thoughts, in solitude we find,
Break the chains, let authenticity bind.

Face the mirror, be true to your core,
Shine with authenticity, let illusions no more.
In breaking the chains, a rebirth begins,
Sad interiors transform, as genuine light wins.

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Sadness, for some, becomes a refuge—a familiar space where they can navigate their emotional landscape, albeit one filled with shadows. The sense of control over this melancholic domain, paradoxically, provides a semblance of comfort. In a world that often romanticizes pain and suffering, individuals may internalize the idea that enduring sadness is a testament to depth and authenticity.

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There’s always something about the last moments of the year that makes me want to write essays which no one else reads but myself. I don’t know but there is a sense of accomplishment in writing down what I have gone through the last 360 plus days and how I also survived those. Letting go and being grateful for the time the Earth had revolved around the sun feels like it deserves this kind of loving effort writing, reminiscing, putting all the pieces together, making sense of everything that happened. It definitely deserves more than just a thank you and goodbye. It deserves a whole chapter from a book, an outro from an album, an outstanding ending scene from a movie. Because, maybe or perhaps, actually that something I feel is what others call victory. Ending the year with a love letter to life is like coming out of a war and documenting all the scenarios that lead me here, to another chance, to my own victory ceremony. And as the Earth is about to reset its revolution, She and I will both watch the sun rise as if seeing it for the first time.
Getting a new year, a new battle, hopping that it won’t be as bad as the last one!
To new changes, a better me🥂❤️

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