Backyard

ये भेद क्यों? क्यों बारिश "आती" है, पर तूफ़ान "आता" है? क्या नमी की कोमलता ही उसे नारी बना देती है, और हवा का रौद्र रूप उसे पुरुष? नदी मीठी, शीतल, बहती — इसलिए "वो" कहलाई, और समंदर खारा, गहरा, उग्र — इसलिए "वो" कहलाया? फूल की पंखुड़ी "नाज़ुक" है तो स्त्रीलिंग, काँटा चुभता है — तो पुल्लिंग। महक "औरत", बदबू "मर्द"? क्या सौंदर्य का हर पैमाना सिर्फ़ लिंग से तय होता है? चाँदनी, मुस्कान, शाम — सब नारी, और ग़ुस्सा, दर्द, प्यास — सब मर्दाना? जैसे सुकून देना और टूट जाना सिर्फ़ स्त्रियों का धर्म हो और चीख़ना, तोड़ना, रुला देना — पुरुषों का कर्म। पर फिर आग क्यों "जलती" है? जो सब कुछ भस्म कर दे — वो नारीलिंग क्यों? नींद "आती" है, पर सपना "आता" है। क्या ये भी संकेत है कि हक़ीक़त और कल्पना में भी भेद है, लिंग है, निर्णय है? ये व्याकरण नहीं, ये सोच है सदियों पुरानी, जिसने भाषा में भी कर दिया भावनाओं का बाँटवारा। शब्दों का भी लिंग होता है — ये तो जाना, पर ये भी समझा कि भाषा भी समाज का आइना होती है। तो आज एक सवाल भाषा से भी — क्या तू भी पुरुषवादी है? या तू बस वही बोलती है जो तुझसे पहले बोल दिया गया? — master

Eyes That Hurt My eyes have held too much— too many sunrises draped in gold, too many ruins bathed in it. They no longer blink at wonder nor flinch at grief— both wear the same face now. I have seen cherry blossoms fall like snow, and bodies fall like silence. Watched lovers kiss in candlelight and mothers weep beside it. How do you unsee what beauty and pain paint with the same brush? Once, I wept at stars— now I wonder if they’re just holes poked in heaven to let sorrow leak through. People call these eyes deep, say they see everything. But they don’t see how heavy that seeing becomes, how the world grows sharper the more clearly you look. I envy the blind sometimes— not for darkness, but for peace. For the mercy of not mistaking a wound for a work of art. — master

Thanks for 200 subs!!✨ We did a great job... (˶˃⤙˂˶)🥰

Send me an anonymous message:

How's it? It took me almost an hour each!!...💃🏾💃🏾

A Love That Burned Quietly A relationship that never started, yet still left ashes. It was never spoken, never traced in ink or carved into time, yet it lived—softly, secretly, like a candle flickering behind closed doors. We were a sigh left unfinished, a pause held too long in a conversation, a question that dared not become a confession. And yet, I loved you in the silence. No hands ever met, no promises were made to break, but still, you lingered in the spaces between my thoughts, turning absence into something heavier than presence. I never called you mine, but when you left, you took something with you. And all that remains now is the scent of something once warm— a love that burned quietly, until all that was left was smoke. —master

I envy the blind sometimes— not for darkness, but for peace. For the mercy of not mistaking a wound for a work of art. — master... full version on 8th April!!

...such great lines!!

.

A Superhero’s Lament He once dreamt of capes and battle cries, of villains falling at his feet, of people chanting his name in streets where shadows feared to linger. He was a child who wanted to be more, to hold the sky in his hands, to be the shield between the weak and the world, to bear the weight of justice— until he did. And now he sits on the moon’s cold surface, staring at the Earth he swore to protect, wondering if it ever protected him. No one sees the scars beneath the suit, the weight of a world that never asked if he could carry it. No one hears the silent screams, drowned beneath the applause. He saved them all, but no one saved him. And so he whispers to the empty stars— "It would’ve been better if I was never chosen. Better if I was never born.” — master

Time as a Villain What if time isn't a healer, but a thief with soft hands? It comes quietly, not with a scream but a whisper— slipping through cracks in your fingers as you hold on to what was. They say time heals, but have you noticed how it forgets instead? Faces fade, voices dull, memories lose their color like old photographs. It steals your innocence and leaves you wise, but only after taking what once made you light. It rearranges your heart without asking, turns love into longing, and joy into nostalgia. You age in its arms not because it holds you, but because it lets go of everything you were, piece by delicate piece. Time doesn't come to fix you— it comes to rewrite you. And sometimes, it writes the ending before you’ve read the beginning. Still, we thank it. Still, we trust it. Because what else can you do when the villain smiles and promises to make it hurt less? — master 2:33pm,Saturday

“The wise walk through the forest, humbled by its endless trees. The foolish climb one and claim they've seen it all.” — A quote

I’m not dramatic, I just overthink everything until it becomes Shakespeare.

What if we feared happiness the way we fear pain? Would we flinch at laughter, brace ourselves before a smile, hesitate before stepping into the light as if joy were a fire waiting to burn us? Would we sabotage moments of peace, run from love before it could hold us, pull away before warmth could settle in— just in case it didn’t last? Maybe that’s why we do it anyway. Maybe that’s why we ruin good things first. Because losing happiness hurts more than never having it at all. — master

If my life was a playlist, it’d be titled “Accidental Clicks & Background Noise.”

If I ever disappear, just assume I finally won hide and seek against reality.

Is love truly selfless, or is it just another way to need? They say love is giving without expecting, a sacrifice, a surrender, a gift wrapped in nothing but sincerity. Yet, beneath the poetry, beneath the vows, isn’t love still a hunger—one that aches to be fed? Even in its purest form, doesn’t love ask for something? A glance, a touch, a whisper in the dark. A place to rest its weary heart, a soul to echo its longing. Perhaps love is not the absence of need, but the most beautiful way to admit it. — master 25thmarch,2025