As much as,
I'm imprisoned,
in your evils eyes,
the more you'll be free,
to me, as a sinner drivels,
Perhaps, we're trying to find,
It will be a moment when we're,

happy...!
But, scattered with these vesper winds,
City of the sun eventide ends...
#thought #sunset #eventide

i seem to know,
why are suffering,
in heaven thinks,
don't make trouble,
if, have blind blinks,
hold your mind,
put it, on rack,
to, with the spirit,
own, a second track...!
#thought #mind #spirit

Don't ****** my ignorance from me, 
This is related to my births.
Whatever I learned,
I learned from you.
Otherwise...,
Where does something happen to me...
#thought #ignorance #learn #happen

A soul of "happiness" never been more than "appearance" it's just about anything to be "disappointed" with a "consumer_orders" from your days,
maybe...,
It is just make about to get the start to "resources" for "distribute" the unknown ways....
#thought #appearance #happiness

Just as the little shuttles for,
finished, in the loom on the row.

Unnoticed threads flow, seamlessly wrong,
creating a pattern both intricate and strong.

Each throw of the shuttle behind a thousand threads,
Their diverse colours and textures form a rich on heads.

"In teamwork, every effort is a thread,
to the final fabric, of success on the head.

The rhythm of life, much like the weaver's hands,
intertwines our choices and destinies"

In the modern digital age,
every online interaction is another thread,

expanding the vast network of human connections,
Though the threads may seem insignificant alone.

together they create beautiful complex designs,
and I'm sure that's how our shared existence is.
#thought

Me and my search,
you...
I found, be my thirst,
you...
How much important for me?
you...
Scatter me, or solve me,
you...
Why, come and go?
you...
Would become the ocean's flow,
you...
Wish I could find more?
Carry me, with the wind floor...
"Man"
#Thought #life #you #me

She'd have been
gone, for so long
herself fragrance
like a mer songs
resides in my soul
but, a long-winded
and from afar, so far
But I have to cruise
To stop the rhyme
Cause, I'm running
-OUT -OF -MY -TIME
#thought

"the body is just a soulful culmination process of emotions"
"rather than the mean of soul carrying it out to be a spectral-bed"
#thought

Where The Eye's name had once been written,
there was a single, unfamiliar line.

A moment where The Eye self begins to dissolve into the text,
But every wall is a setting, every eye a reader, every life a story.


The journal grew heavier in The Eye's hands,
its pages rustling without wind,
And on the inside cover—

The Eye felt the words,
not just in mind, but in bones.
The Eye was becoming part of the draft,
and the draft was becoming part of Eye.

But now, The Eye felt less like the reader
and more like the text—
less like the observer
and more like the observed.

And then The Eye felt,
the walls watching back.
And for the first time,
The Eye closed the journal.
#thought

I assure you,
never let you go.
if, you made me gone,
trust me, I'll never be back.
#thought

Passing by day
Looking into yesterday
Think with the sorrow
Will happened on tomorrow
#thought #happened #day

Path of life find a faith...
"Fate", cheater of death?
Only have, that i face, to flash,
"Crevices" smoke of stuff to ash...
"Man"
#life #path #faith #fate #death

Feel free moments, like neked viewers
Getting too high, and shocked listeners!
#thought #moments #high #shocked

"Words" created for,
A spiritual moment.
You and you define,
Of diverge, for Divine.
Time trail, laid to face,
Tread upon emptiness...
#thought #spiritual #diverge

Let's make The Story:
Grief didn't scream here,
but smoulders like an old fire.


Let's make The Story:
what remained was a shape?
emotionally or regrettably—
whatever, the truth was escape?


Let's make The Story:
as though the weight was not of flesh,
but the memory—fragile and unfinished ash.
#thought

✦The Quiet Pull

She stood at the edge of the room
like someone visiting a memory
they weren’t sure they were allowed to keep.

The journal sat where it always had.
Nothing had changed—
and yet,
everything had.

Since the dream,
she’d felt a pressure.
Not grief exactly—
grief was loud.
This was quiet, constant,
like the hush before a line is spoken
on a stage not yet lit.

She reached for it once.
Stopped.

There was a fear in her—not of death,
but of being read.
As if the moment she touched the journal,
he might see her
too clearly.

What would he find?
A woman still frozen at the door.
A heart not broken,
but suspended—
midbeat, midgrief, midline.

She finally opened it.
Not quickly,
not dramatically.
Like one opens an envelope
they never expected to arrive.

And there—beneath the faint ghost
of the sentence she’d seen before—
was another.
New. Still indenting.
Still warm.

She closed the journal
as the wind moved through the house.
But the air didn’t feel cold.
It felt… unfinished.

And she wasn’t afraid anymore.
#thought

Sometimes I make mistakes!
My mistakes fall like raindrops, soft and quick,
vanishing into soil where memories stick.
But power carves its name, deep and wide,
etched in stone—it cannot hide.

Fates twist like words in a palindrome’s dance,
repeating themselves, as if given a chance.
Between the lines of right and wrong,
I walk a path where history belongs.

Each step I take reflects the past,
my journey framed by shadows cast.
In the mirror of time, I may stand alone,
but I'm bound by forces still unknown.

Now I am tired of these meaningless flights;
one day, I will cut my wings and fill the skies,
a request for peace in the absence of earth,
in the heart of the soul, from a far-beloved house.
#thought

In the realm of dusk's embrace,
Souls plan a rendezvous in grace.

Yet, within twilight's tender light,
They just split over minutes so slight.

“In the seventh hush of dusk,” murmured the sun,
As the moon replied, “The ninth of night’s turning…”

Moon hung in the night sky like a silent guardian,
While the words of the Sun thundered through the heavens,

if, there be chosen one?

Maybe, their words entwine,
As time's nuances become a verse divine.
#thought

✩Hedgerows in the Wall
—by you, through me

There were hedgerows in the wall,
but the eye—
steady now—
found a soft path through.
watched the body of a friend
like a map I never learned to read.

Success lies in the silence between blinks,
in how you looked at them—
not them,
but the way your gaze built a story
I was never allowed to edit.

I kept searching for
an easy-to-find exposit,
a sentence that would unfold my life
like instructions in a language I almost remembered.

But I keep failing to log in
to the blind words they left me—
receipts without purchases,
echoes without sound.
And yet, here I stand—
one eye against the hedgerow,
trying to see
what was never truly hidden,
just…
misunderstood.

But the story of a friend, once blurred
by metafictional words—
characters written in the margins
of what I thought I knew—
now stands whole in the quiet,
no longer shaped by how I read,
but by how they were written to be.

Truth wasn’t hidden,
just waiting—
not an exposit
but a slow unfolding,
like dawn breaking on familiar ground.

I no longer wrestle the blind words,
no longer seek login to a place
that was never locked,
only misread.

Now, I read the echoes gently—
not as puzzles,
but as parts of the song
that brought me here.

And in that seeing,
the wall breathes,
the eye opens,
and I know:
what I missed was never lost.

Now, I trace the margins
not for meaning,
but for motion—
where silence scribbles
its own kind of clarity.

And the wall?
Just a setting.
The eye?
A reader.
The story?
Still being written.
#thought