She no longer fears missing out, for she has learned that what’s meant for her will never pass her by. While the world rushes to chase trends, gatherings, and noise, she finds peace in her own rhythm. Her joy isn’t borrowed from what others are doing, but born from the satisfaction of being present where she is …
She doesn’t measure her life against anyone’s timeline. She knows that every soul blooms in its own season. She would rather miss a hundred fleeting moments than lose the one that truly belongs to her …
For her, the real richness lies not in being everywhere, but in being whole, right where she stands …
There was a small village at the foot of a mountain. The village was called Shantipur. In that village lived a little girl named Turona. Every day, Turona would gaze at the big mountain from afar. In the morning, the mountain sparkled in golden sunlight, and by evening, it glowed in a soft reddish hue …
One day, Turona decided she would climb to the top of that mountain. Everyone said, ‘It’s too high, you won’t be able to.’ But Turona smiled and replied, ‘How will I know if I don’t try?’ …
The next morning, she set off with a bottle of water, some fruit, and a notebook. On the way, she grew tired, her feet ached on the stones, yet she didn’t stop. Sometimes she sat down to rest, listening to the sound of the wind and watching the birds fly …
Finally, after noon, she reached the top of the mountain. Looking down, she saw how beautiful her little village was, green fields, tiny houses, and a silver river flowing gently through it …
In her notebook, Turona wrote, ‘The joy of reaching the highest place only comes when you refuse to give up.’ …
Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled of freedom, and inside her heart, there was peace …
She realized that the real mountain wasn’t outside, but within her. And that day, she had conquered both …
How we used to write short stories when we were young! I remember how every night I’d make up stories to tell my little sisters before they fell asleep. I used to jot down bits of them in my notebook too. Often, I’d go up to our rooftop with that notebook, gazing at the distant sky until my thoughts drifted away. I wanted to write, and sometimes, I did. Other times, I simply got lost in my own imagination!
I’m sure it happened with you too!
Anyways, now tell me, What is the ‘mountain’ in your own life that you’ve been afraid to climb? Or tell me, When was the last time you tried something even though others doubted you?
If someone listens to a song And she appears in the verse Not summoned, not expected Just felt, like a breeze through a half-open window Then that is love in its gentlest form …
Not loud, not declared But tucked between notes Where memory breathes, and the heart still knows What it never forgot …
And if they play it again Not to relive the past But to feel her near Just once more …
Alas, the song fades! But somewhere in its echo lives a moment They never said goodbye to …
I was listening to a song when a sudden thought settled in, if someone ever hears a song and thinks of me, isn’t that one of the most deeply emotional and sacred gestures?
That moment stayed with me, and I ended up writing ‘When a Song Remembers Her’ … It doesn’t follow any structure or rhyme, but it holds something personal, love, memory, longing …
Maybe it’s a poem. Maybe it’s just a feeling shaped into words. I’m not entirely sure …
But I wonder, what do you think, can something like this be called a poem? Or does a poem need rules to be real, or can it simply be a moment that moves us? Also, I’m just wondering about you, have you ever heard a song and found someone gently returning to your heart through it?
Tell me, Isn’t it beautiful how music remembers what we try to forget?
In puzzled ponder, a name I’ve heard Though “Roksana” my soul preferred … Yet as time passed by A fondness did arise Love’s influence moves my heart … Let the name be my tender song In love’s embrace, I truly belong …
Restless I feel … My heart aches deeply … He captivates my heart …
My thoughts are scattered … Right now … Oh dear! I continually shatter my heart, Dispersing its fragments Until they touch The depths of your being, My beloved …
I won’t be hesitant to say, ‘It was difficult but I could breathe the day … It’s a hopelessness yet hope found its way … Though I cannot predict if all will be well, But I tried my best, trying to break through the spell …
It rained a lot today, a lot, a lot, a lot; after a long, long, long time. …. It made me a bit contemplative …. Does this happen with you when it rains?
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Sielvartas/ lithuanian (n.) This term means deep sorrow or ‘soul tumbling’. It can simply be a state of seemingly endless grief …
I’m sorry I took a lot of time I never thought You would notice let alone ask me about it …. So I am a bit nervous, feeling a bit overwhelmed It’s a bit difficult for me … Can the answer wait? I may reply a bit later but I don’t know May be or may be not … If I do not take time now And say that I wish to say … Then it may sound vulnerable Again it may or may not be To you; I do not know …. Just your presence lingering for a long, long, long time now without a trace of heartache … And it’s better unsaid to you … May be or may be not But I’ve never been happier to fall like this … And then I’m a bit upset also That you’ve noticed Even if you noticed Why did you have to ask me? You made me awkward … And that’s why I was a bit upset … Couldn’t you be silent? There are so many things to tell I have so many words to say May be not now, or may be now I believe it’s happening You’re becoming my idle thoughts … Then what’s the fuss about it? Then what’s that ‘May be or may be not’ at all? …
Roksana Tales 