inner strength

  • A House Without Foundation

    A House Without Foundation

    They cultivate an aura of ambiguity,
    leaving the truth cloaked in fog
    that bends with every breeze,
    ever-shifting to suit
    the whims of convenience.

    This being vague is
    no deception of others,
    but a self-delusion, you understand,
    and a refusal to stop
    drifting aimlessly above
    the solid ground of principle.

    By leaving the truth open
    to interpretation,
    they reserve the right to pivot,
    to rewrite and to redefine,
    thereby not only betraying
    others’ trust
    but also their own being.

    For in the depths of
    their own hearts,
    they know that to stand
    for anything is like being
    bound by conviction,
    and so they trade firm ground
    for the fleeting shelter
    of a passing cloud.

    Their words wind through
    labyrinths of mirrored reflections,
    refracting meanings that
    splinter and distort,
    making it possible
    for one person to speak
    several truths at once.

    But eventually,
    this kind of impotence reveals
    something deeper:
    it shows that these individuals
    are willing to betray the roots
    of their integrity
    to avoid the weight of discomfortβ€”
    when perhaps it
    would have been better
    if they had just stated clearly
    what they meant instead.

    Those who engage in such pretenses
    do not lie before others,
    but rather lie before themselves,
    undermining their own character
    with each evasion.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.

  • The Stories of My Tears

    The Stories of My Tears

    Every night, as far back as I could remember,
    I shiver. I cry myself to sleep.
    It was the only way I knew how to fall asleep,
    The only feeling I knew.

    Tears are my friends. Each tear is a story,
    A real life tale with colorful characters,
    And the self I only knew through struggle, pain
    And a mind separate of the body.
    What I knew was not what I did.

    The environment was hell, and the characters lost.
    There was no writer, nor a script.
    It was always impulse, reaction to an escape
    Of a struggle within a struggle.
    There was no time to pause.
    A moment of reset could not be found.

    I do not count sheep, I peeled tears.
    I escaped so far away,
    I lost the captain seat of my body and actions.
    Born autistic, with no diagnosis.
    Literally forced yourself to speak,
    But words don’t come out right.

    Born in a family of migrants,
    Trapped in a civil war.
    Unwelcomed anywhere.
    At home, at school, outside in the neighborhood.
    The only escape is the mind.

    Every obstacle overcome was never good enough.
    Constantly chasing normal.
    And in my mind I know.
    Yes, everyone is constantly chasing normal.
    And we are all tired.

    Can I be me? Can I find me beneath the graffiti?
    Live your life. And I’ll live mine. A dream.
    Can I live my life?
    Mine will always include tears and smiles.
    But know that my voice is mute.

    I am too scared to speak my mind.
    Always beaten whenever I spoke from the heart.
    The soul is the only dialogue. Loud or mute.

    At the end of each day,
    All of the grima from the excessive stimulation,
    A volcano inside is ready to erupt.
    I take a very deep breath,
    To bring light into the volcano, and simply live.

    I escape for a fresh breath of another day.
    The only possible faith, and only choice,
    Is to believe in today, and in tomorrow.

    Living such a life, God can only be found
    In little moments. Not some place far away,
    Nor living in my house.
    I am in his house, and therefore,
    He is in my moments.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.

  • Empathy’s Weight

    Empathy’s Weight

    I can feel your pain,
    Whispered in my bones.
    Your struggles are now mine,
    An unmentioned burden that I bear silently.

    Every story told to me,
    Every tear I see shed,
    My heart is weighted down,
    A storehouse of sorrows.

    As understanding deepens,
    So does sadness grow.
    It is a strange bond:
    The nearer I get, the more I hurt.

    Yet, through this hurt comes a revelation:
    Life does not issue blame,
    Only learning etched into experience.

    We stumble and we fall
    And then stand up again
    Every mistake is a teacher
    Each sorrow is our guide

    No villains, they say in the allegory of human experience
    There are only students
    There is no failing again

    But if I must bear
    The load of a thousand lives
    For I can endure knowing:
    This is a school where we are all pupils
    This is school where all of us are learners
    But let me tell you something –
    This place is a memorable and beautiful college

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.

  • Slay the Giants Within

    Slay the Giants Within

    Find love in yourself,
    And when you meet
    The hungry giants of evil,
    Feed them from your heart.

    Witness the fight
    Of success and failure,
    Of life and death.
    You’ll find only one hero-
    And the other does not exist.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.