Jannat sony

i am not flawless—i confess it plain, a map of missteps, loss, and gain my voice has cracked, my hands let slip soft promises from trembling grip. i’ve faltered—friend, and kin, and flame worn many masks, misplaced my name yet through the ruin, through the shove i rise unbroken, still enough my hair undone by restless air, no careful hand to smooth or care my skin, a script where time has traced the quiet wars i’ve always faced some turn away, some choose to stay, some only love in fleeting sway but i—i keep a stubborn light that will not dim to please their sight i hunger, ache, i laugh too wide, let oceans echo deep inside no polished act, no practiced guise just truth that flickers, breathes, and cries i love like fire, untamed, intense, no measured heart, no soft pretense i am the thunder, fierce and free, a storm that dares the world to see.

not all we leave is gold or stone, nor monuments the world has known some legacies are soft and small, yet outlive towers, outlast them all a fleeting smile, a gentle word, a kindness quietly given, unheard a patient hand, a steady guide that walks with someone through the tide a lesson sown in passing days, a spark that lights a thousand ways a love made clear, a courage shown that helps another stand alone these are the gifts no dust can claim, no rust can dim, no years can tame they travel far though we depart as living echoes in a heart the truest mark we ever start is not in marble carved apart but in the silent, sacred part where one soul alters another’s heart and there it glows, serene and bright a borrowed star in someone’s night so though our names may fade from chart, our lives live on in someone’s heart.

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.

the wind may rage, the branches bend and sway, yet you remain the dawn inside the day. their whispers drift like dust upon the air, but rivers never seek the sky’s repair. your laughter spills like light through open glass, your hands shape worlds that quietly surpass. some hearts grow restless when they see you rise, uncertain of the fire within your eyes. the crowd may lean toward you, then retreat, uneasy with the rhythm of your beat. yet still you stand—unborrowed, fierce, and free, a living note in your own melody. each step you place becomes a soft decree, each breath a spark of quiet sovereignty. no borrowed mask, no script for you to see, your soul writes truth in bold autonomy. so let them watch, let curious voices roam the stars themselves were once unknown. for tides do not command the restless sea they simply shift around its gravity.

A false promise drifts on velvet air, a lullaby too kind to bear, it paints the dusk with borrowed gold while leaving silent wounds untold. It sways like branches in the gale, a fragile truth behind the veil, its polished words, so smooth, so light, conceal the fracture out of sight. But honest “no,” though sharp and bare, is clean as frost on winter air. It draws a line the heart can see, and cuts the knots that bind it free. No ghost of hope, no tethered string, no hollow dreams that slowly sting just steady ground and open sky, where wounded wings can learn to fly. So greet the truth, though cold it seems, it clears the fog of softer dreams. For kinder far the blade sincere than whispers sweet that hide their fear.

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They say a mind that dreams too far will break beneath a crowded star, that wings too bold will lose the air and fall through doubt and cautious care. Yet I have learned to befriend the flame, to whisper softly to its name, to let it burn through bone and bone until its light becomes my own. Each doubt a stone along the climb, each fear a bell that tolls with time still hand by hand, through night and wall, I scale the heights that dare the fall. The world may laugh, may name me wild, a reckless heart, a dreaming child yet mountains move for those who stand with stubborn fire in heart and hand. For what they call a sweet delusion is often vision in seclusion: a fragile seed the brave ones sow in soil the timid fear to know. So let them say the dream’s too high, too bright to live beneath this sky for worlds are shaped by those who see a “cannot” bend to “yet to be.”