I build a home in people,
And people leave.
My story never matches,
With the writer of destiny.
The moment you realise,
It's you versus the whole world,
You stop explaining your tears.
I don't know why people treat me
Like I have no feelings,
When I feel everything,
A little too much.
I asked for love,
They gave me lessons.
I asked for stay,
They gave me goodbyes.
Still, I write.
Because my diary never left.
Today I am feeling very hurt for myself.
From everyone I only wanted a little love,
And I didn't even get that.
After you came into my life I learned to live again,
And now you yourself have left my life.
You know how much I love you,
Then why did you do this?
I was just a little jealous,
What was so wrong in that
That you said you want space?
I always Loved you without
any conditions just to
receive the love i never get
I never wished bad for your parents,
I thought I would love them like my own,
But look what happened,
My happiness was snatched away.
I have no one to share my pain with,
So I am writing my heart's words in this diary.
There is a workshop tucked away from the sun,
hidden somewhere between
dusk and dawn.
No one can see it—
unless invited.
Some find it during the darkest moments of their lives.
Some arrive after accidentally taking the wrong jeep home.
Others swear they simply followed a page torn from their diary,
carried by the wind.
Every guest is given three things:
a blank page,
a pen,
and one instruction.
Create for the soul your heart wishes to reach.
Every piece finds its way.
I confide it all to my journal.
I'm forever trying to understand
my place in this big world.
It's not easy growing up and fitting in.
Truthfully much of life hardly makes any sense.
But still curiosity has the best of me
so my journal and I plug away
and peel back the layers of each day.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Today I heard a plane
going on its usual way.
It was me who had changed.
My legs didn't move
'cause I thought it was lame.
But I remember once I'd rush to you
and tell you about how I captured the moment
with my eyes, my heart, my soul,
everything I truly meant.
Apparently, I turned wise
enough to know that stuff was crazy.
But ask my younger self,
his heart pumped with joy at every story, every toy.
Every colour felt magical,
unlike today, when all of it seems dull.
Successful, responsible, capable,
that's the requirement in adolescence.
Tired, tired, tired, everything so dense.
Years ago,
my existence in the world made faces happy.
Today they frown at my actions,
at me,
at who I've become.
I miss sleeping on the roof.
I miss empty pockets.
I miss an empty mind.
I miss happy faces.
Blessed to be part of God's open-theatre
But a weather whiplash created a havoc
My innocent joy evaporated
My lean body quivered by the violent winds
Pitter! Patter! It started pouring down
The winds added fuel to the storm
Sturdy trees prostrated on the ground
Accepting their defeat in the duel
It flooded all over submerging me
Luckily, the flow took a quick diversion
By dawn, the level dropped down to my neck
And I could see the limpid firmament
Noticed a ray like a sharp needle
Came out penetrating the stretched blue denim
Over the moon! I was spellbound by sunlight!
Place: 3 rd
found hidden treasure
dad's handwritten diary
flooded memories
the nose chakra vibrates
celebrating pranic breath drawn
commingled with bliss that never abates
God’s boundless grace is what presence counts on
the thirty three stringed spine as always stands erect
with tranquil heart balancing all energies in its fold
as a receptor we simply do as God does direct
revealing our aura aflame in hues of gold
awareness bilocation is now the norm
dancing in form and motionless in the void
kundalini moves as she likes birthing a bliss storm
whilst Shiva facilitates existence in stillness unalloyed
with ego erased we no longer weigh, measure or size
assigning no meanings to benedictions of grace
as we metamorphose we slowly do realise
God always holds us in close embrace
You glowed bright in my eyes that night,
Not a tear, not a doubt in sight.
Winter crept colder, quietly teasing,
Yet I learned to live with its ache -
Even as trees dried, I kept flying.
My soul knows life’s silent games
And its carefully hidden wonders.
Still, my heart leaves no trace of hope,
Beating to its own uneven rhythm,
As though seasons no longer existed.
As they say, nothing is permanent.
The love of my life slipped away,
Leaving behind an apology letter.
I froze though it was summer -
Trees stood healthy while I withered.
I was not alone, only drowning,
To my diary, line by line, clinging.
The warm sun tapped my shoulder,
Uncovering buried wonders
Blooming across forgotten seasons.
Now I walk forward holding love
Smiling with summer,
Singing with spring, running with rain,
Walking beside winter,
Turning rejection into wonder.
My past was like a red balloon
It inflated yet burst too soon
The air dispersed without a boon
And it echoed my afternoon
My blissful days seemed like a cake
But sweetness became overbaked
The aftertaste could never slake
As moments were just underbaked
Yet days and nights remain my gift
Of life that brings lasting uplift
Even if candles fade and drift
My fire ignites through snowdrift
Though balloons may burst in distress
And cakes may unleash bitterness
My soul with Him dwells in wholeness
And my heart blooms forth in pureness
Life gives me pancakes with no maple syrup
Bread with no jam
A story with no happy ending
A body with no arm
I feel like God mocks me
Created me just for fun
Cause why give me eyes if I can't see?
Why give me legs if I can't run?
You give me puzzles with incomplete pieces
Send me on quests with no end
You watch silently as I get broken
And go even quieter while I mend
I feel like God mocks me
Gave me a hammer with no nail
Cause you knew this would happen, didn't you?
You must have known that I would fail
Destined to run a race with no finish line
Destined to be a candle without a wick
Destined to watch my life fall apart
And all that I built, brick by brick
I feel like God mocks me
So I won't try anymore
Tired of living a life of near misses
A life of neither nor
Destined to chase shadows
Cursed to befriend pain
When the sun sets tomorrow
I'll write this poem, again
Diary written within the mind of experiences
Instances with boundaries
The fears within
The Black Man being the Center Man
Spotlight and focus
Acceptances and rejections
Battling the world as if in the military
Times of tears
Being the Black Man meant
Is the world ready to handle to connect
Introspective
Knowing the Black Man will always be a Black Man
Prepared in all circumstances and situations
Compromise but will never surrender
The Black Man Principle
Complexity and Official
Black Man feelings
Unassured and lack confident
A world that doesn’t understand, but label the Blackman’s role
Assertive when needing to be
Black and Brown color trait
Racism high society
The Diary
Black Man
Survival
Commitment and Responsibility
Black Men are taking their place.
I write to speak,
Of feelings folded neat,
Of dreams untold,
And words left incomplete.
A letter — meant to travel far,
Needs an address, a name, a mark;
But mine — they linger, sealed within,
No stamp, no post, no destined kin.
To whom shall I write
When no one waits?
When the heart itself
Locks its gates?
Some are written out of fear,
Some in silence, held so near;
Some for love I’ll never claim,
Some for guilt without a name.
To the unknown, the lost, the dear,
To shadows I hold close and clear,
I write — not to be read or known,
But to whisper truth to my own.
These letters rest where secrets blend,
Pages of thoughts that never end.
They are my diary, my unseen friend —
The letters I’ll never send.
“Now overlap the sundials
with your shadows”
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Morning
There are no answers.
The river is too busy reflecting
trees on the far bank and healing
its mirror after being gashed
by a passing boat.
The whole morning with its clear,
crisp air and sunlit space is simply
getting on with what it has to do -
letting the day's story unfold
in time.
And so it is with me,
unfolding into my own space,
trying to heal the things
that do not reflect
what is truly real.
Evening
Like a gnomon on a sundial,
the Newport power station's
tall chimney casts its long shadow
across the river. It seems
to herald a sense of hurry
as evening approaches.
Soon, starlings will begin to loudly
bustle for roosting positions
in the nearby plane trees
and fruit bats will take flight
lifting a dark ominous cloud
into the night sky before
splintering into countless wings.
They are like messengers
from another world.
But who will hear them?
I walk home, my thoughts
seeking shelter in the familiar,
deep in my own denial
Diary entry dated October first
Sublime indian summer won’t last much longer
Enjoyed every amazingly sunfilled minute
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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