Words From A Burnt Soul

 Empty. Empty of mind. Empty of heart. Empty of everything. There’s nothing left in me. I want someone — anyone — to fill my heart with feeling. Any feeling. It doesn’t matter what kind. I just don’t want to feel… Empty. Because this emptiness reminds me — I’m not alone. I’m lonely. I walk through the dark night of this world, searching for something to hold. My hands — empty. Maybe there’s a torch in them. Maybe there’s a thought in my head. Maybe. Maybe. But I don’t feel it. I don’t see it. My mind — void. My heart — hollow. I stare at my book. My own heart, written across pages. Feelings live there — but not in me. I tear the pages. One by one. They remind me: ache. pain. memory. The paper makes a sound, like it wants to speak. But my heart doesn’t listen. My mind doesn’t care. I rip every page. Now, only nine white pages remain. And in my hand — a black pen. I grip it tightly. And I scribble: VOID.

 Every dawn now feels like the soul of me rising. The wind… it’s no longer just air — it’s become melody. And it’s because of you, Da. I’m feeling you completely — without softening, without running. I will never try to erase this love. It’s the fabric of me, the thing that makes me eternal. Da… I love you — from the depth of my silence. And my eyes… they’re always searching for you. Not to find, but to say — my love still lives in you.

ERRONEOUS NOTIONS Every day, we assume. We assume things about life, people, and the future—erroneous notions that sometimes stretch far beyond reality. I walk a path, hoping to reach the "posh life" I dream of. We all want to live in that comfort, that ideal.   But society, with its rules and expectations, hangs over us like a shadow. It molds us, confines us, and whispers doubts: You’re not enough. You’ll never make it. These voices create agony within me, a silent suffering I carry inside.   Still, we chase goals. We set our sights on destinations we think will bring us happiness, success, and fulfillment. Yet, the truth oftendefies our plans. And so, I ask myself: What’s the point?  The answer, I think, lies in doing what excites us. What sparks a fire within.   I’ve come here, to this place of thought and reflection, and I wonder: What am I made of? Ideas, beliefs, values—all shaped by others. Who decided these ideas? Who built this framework I’m ...

 Hey Da, I see you everywhere.   In the wind—you touch me.   In the sky—you watch over me.   In the trees—you feel my breath, and I feel yours.   You're the sun—giving light to my path, showing me the way forward.   You're the small path I walk on, and with every step, I feel like I’m walking on your thoughts. I live in this solitude, making love with your memory—   thinking of you, feeling you, reaching to touch your essence,   to know you, to see your beauty. But your face doesn’t stay in my mind…   and it’s so hard to survive without your presence. Still, I love you.   Still, I live with your name. Your name has become my way of life.   It helps me let go and move with life. But Da—my heart is beating for you,   craving you, aching to see you, to feel you,   to romance you in silence—just by watching you,   the way you walk, the dress you wear, ...

RAVI — LOOK INTO YOUR SOUL. Look into your mind.   Look into the veins that carry your blood.   Look at the life you're living.   Look at where you are.   What do you want?   Where do you want to go?   What do you want to create?   Ravi — every question leads to one truth:   You want to write.  You want to become a storyteller.   You want to show the world how you see it — raw, unfiltered, unapologetic.   One bad day, one downfall, won’t collapse your dream.   You’re too sensitive, yes — but that’s what makes you powerful.   You live in a dark room — but that room shaped you, carved you into this.   You’re not alone.   Look at the moon — it’s alone, but it still shines.   Look at the rising sun — it rises alone, but it still illuminates the world.   Nothing will stop you.   You think differently. You see differentl...

 "Some days, I don’t know who I am. Some days, I forget why I even started. But one thing keeps pulling me back to life— writing. This… is my letter to it. My letter to this life." THIS LIFE, IN THIS JOURNEY I often come to you, spilling the chaos of my life onto these pages. For the past five days, I’ve written nothing. Instead, I’ve wandered aimlessly with my friends, drinking beer, watching scenes from La La Land, Django Unchained, Oppenheimer, and Whiplash.   I know what I’m doing, yet I feel like I’m losing something—something vital, something that defines me. Writing is my soul, and without it, I feel hollow. If this emptiness takes over, I’ll cease to exist.   Art is the only thing that makes me curious to learn, to live. Every day, my mother scolds me for doing nothing to support her. She watches me roam the streets with friends, and I know it breaks her heart. I understand her pain. But everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it?   I am at wa...