Her Presence

She holds a whimsical grace,

a smile, soft and defiant,

lingering even in sorrow,

as if she knows all that is denied—

the wisdom of unspoken heartaches.

I see now that I should have revered her sooner,

for she is more than this world,

a figure almost divine.

If there were a final language in heaven,

it would be hers, whispered and all-knowing.

Each Sunday grows heavier with despair,

each week brings a fresh taste of bitterness.

Yet I am bound to her,

drawn to the affliction she embodies,

as if I am intoxicated by her very essence.

I’ve always carried rough edges,

those unpolished parts, untouched and raw.

Yet in her presence, I find solace—

she is my sanctuary,

a place where my world shifts and becomes something new.

Alone with her, paradise feels near,

as if I am poised on the edge of something more than love.

I bring to her my most unrefined self,

trusting she will take me as I am,

imperfect and uncut,

perhaps to be honed in her hands.

Her divinity lies beyond beauty—

it is in the power she holds,

bending my reality, reshaping my very being.

She is muse and goddess,

captivating in ways both profound and consuming.

To me, she is not just a lover;

she is a sacred rite,

an all-encompassing truth,

a glimpse of the divine, more than I have ever known.

@shikharpath

The Silent Distance

It is at times, in the midst of silences between words and gazes, that I find myself drawn to the faces around me—whether they be mere passersby, casual acquaintances, or those who brush past in the final, fading seconds of a moment. To me, they seem achingly close, as if our souls are bound by some unseen thread. Each face, each pair of eyes, holds a story I yearn to know, a journey I long to share. And, almost impossibly, a tender longing rises within me—a wish that they might have all that the universe could grant: peace, joy, and the comfort of belonging.

I ache to be part of their odyssey, to lift some hidden burden, to offer something that might ease their path. Within them, I glimpse fragments of myself—moments of joy, of suffering, of quiet resilience. I want to reach out, to connect, to marvel at the wonder of their becoming.

Yet, even as my heart extends towards them, I find myself inhabiting a place of separateness, a place that renders me a mere observer. I am an observer at a distance, removed from their world. A space still lingers between us, as though I exist in a different hue, as though I am a stranger in their sphere. They carry on in their movements, in their laughter and conversation, under a light that feels both intimate and remote. And I, here, remain caught in a quiet void they neither see nor wish to see.

It is as if I belong to another form of humanity—a shape that is apparent yet tantalisingly elusive, something perhaps felt but never fully grasped. I exist among them, within their space, yet in close opposition to their beings. My heart reaches, yet my body remains a stillness within me. They do not know me, these strangers whose stories and lives I hold in quiet reverence, this involuntary tenderness hidden within. And I wonder, across this vast expanse of existence we share, is it possible that they, too, feel this strange longing—a need to belong, to be seen, to be connected, to be, somehow, a ‘we’?

Beyond 'Once More'

Time tolls its bells, beckoning us, and we murmur, "Just once more." That dreadfully romanticised "Just once more." But the reality is, there is no such thing as "Just once more." Even déjà vu is but a deception. I’ve wandered through the corridors of time, revisited moments long gone, and nothing ever felt as it did the first time. Not the maiden flight through the skies, nor the first encounter with the vastness of the ocean. Not the first raindrop on my skin, nor the first night spent in the embrace of love. Not the first thrill of the open road, nor the initial letter that promised a future, nor even the first leap through the folds of time.

Nothing ever truly replicates. So, heed this—look forward, and embrace what is not a "Just once more" but a "First." The years have caught up with you; it’s time to tread with prudence.

Grasp that first opportunity, savour that first sip of knowledge, and comprehend that no invention, no matter how ingenious, can truly carry you beyond the bounds of time. Accept the immutable law, as constant as the setting sun. Your mind may wander faster than the wind, but you cannot. Even the icons have departed, leaving no glimmer of hope that anything could outpace reality. Now, everything is tainted.

Protect yourself. Yes, you. You are invaluable. You always have been. Gaze into your reflection and tell me, does the sentiment, "When life brings me into your presence, the world appears more enchanting than a dream," still hold true? Does it still, even now? How preposterous!

Recognise the signs and extricate yourself from the illusion of "Just once more."

No more "Just once more." Do you Concur ?

#LifeLessons  #Mindfulness #SelfReflection #Motivation #Philosophy #InnerStrength 

Veil of Surroundings

Across the expanse of unfamiliar shores, where the ocean’s whispers barely reach, there lies a quiet burden—a solitude carried by those whose hearts beat to the rhythm of an unseen song. It is not a burden of choice, but a silent inheritance, a gift that comes with a profound ache. To perceive the world in all its depth, to feel the weight of every wave, every breeze, is to walk a path few can follow. In this new place, surrounded by faces that seem so far away, the heart yearns—not just for company, but for a connection that touches the soul.

The world speaks in simple tongues, where words fail to capture the full spectrum of what lies beneath. Conversations, once filled with promise, now drift away like forgotten echoes, leaving only the cold shadow of distance. It is not pride that keeps one apart, but the depth of feeling that others cannot fathom. Thoughts swirl like unspoken secrets, woven into a tapestry only the heart can see, yet no one else can understand.

Beyond this solitude lies another weight—the pull of a heart too willing to give. Altruism, that purest form of love, becomes a quiet source of pain when it is met with misunderstanding, when the hand that offers is met with doubt. The soul, eager to lift others, finds itself worn and weary, its light dimming in the face of a world that cannot grasp the depth of its giving. The act of caring becomes a solitary voyage, as the heart reaches out only to find the distance too vast, the gap too wide to bridge.

This solitude, this endless search for understanding, is not born of arrogance, but of a divide so profound that it separates even the most kindred souls. The heart longs not for recognition, but for a simple truth—a place to belong, a voice that resonates with its own. Yet, such a connection remains elusive, a distant shore that can never be reached. And so, the journey continues, a path where the weight of feeling and the ache of giving shape every step, leaving the heart adrift in a world that remains both distant and close, always searching, always longing for a touch that remains just out of reach.