Skip to main content

Dying To Live



I die every day to live a little,
In ways I’d never imagined before.
Death is not always loss or an end;
Sometimes, it’s the shedding of masks,
The breaking of beliefs that tethered me tight,
The crumbling of identities I thought were mine.

Perhaps, a bit of innocence fades
Each time life demands I confront the unknown—
The darkness, the vast, unyielding abyss.
Yet, within that void, my soul reignites,
Moment by moment, piece by piece.

I tried hiding in my cocoon,
But I still transform into something raw,
Something true,
Something new.

I die every day to live a little,
When I see the scars on another’s soul,
Deeper than my own—
And yet, they carry on.

Their resilience becomes my quiet hymn,
Their pain whispers to my own:
“Be still, and rise again.”

And so, I learn to live a little,
Not in spite of the breaking,
But because of it.
For every death births a seed of life,
And in every shadow, I find a glimmer of light.

I die every day to live a little.
Then I learn to live some more.
I die every day, and little by little,
I live for so much more.

I die every day,
And now I know—
I live forever.

This body may fall, these identities fade,
But my soul will rise—
Through countless deaths, through crumbled beliefs,
Through the ashes of all I’ve been.

For every ending births a beginning,
And in the stillness of each fall,
I rise again—endlessly whole, endlessly free.

And so, I die every day to live a little.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.
Post a Comment
Read more

Polished Sins

  A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.
Post a Comment
Read more

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon,  Veena Rao
Post a Comment
Read more