By Divyanka Shaw
In the rush of life, a storm of noise and deadlines,
I stumble into pockets of stillness.
A face that holds the universe in its eyes,
a cat curled like a secret in the sunlight,
or a lone tree, standing as though it’s paused between chapters of a forgotten story.
For a moment, time bends,
and I feel it,
a whisper beneath the chaos,
but the weight of everything presses down like clouds before a storm.
I wonder, have I grown too weary to see the beauty woven into the cracks?
Am I too tired to catch the melody in life’s fragments?
The fire inside me flickers, fragile,
But I remind myself—there’s light, if I dare to look.
So I let my eyes soften, searching through the haze of fatigue,
not for perfection, but for the unnoticed wonders,
the small things that hum with a quiet life.
Not because the world is whole,
but because in the ruins, beauty still breathes.
The darkness clings to my edges,
whispering its weight into my bones,
But I refuse to let it erase the light.
It’s not about hiding the pain,
it’s about letting the gentle pulse of life,
in its smallest forms, keep me anchored.
Even if fleeting, even if I’m breaking,
Those moments,
They stitch my soul back together, piece by fragile piece.
I’m not pretending everything’s fine,
I’m reaching for the beauty that makes surviving worthwhile.
Because in the end, it’s not the suffering I want to cling to—
it’s the flicker of hope,
the breath of something soft,
that keeps me here.
By Divyanka Shaw
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