Courage

Not all courage

wears a medal. Nor an insta handle.

Some of it wakes at five

to boil tea in a dim kitchen,

while the house is still

and the day already heavy.

Some of it stands in crowded buses,

one hand on the railing,

the other holding

a life that did not turn out

as planned.

Some of it signs papers quietly

in family courts,

or returns home

after arguments

that no one else will ever hear.

Some of it walks back

into offices

where the air is thick

with unsaid things

and still says

“good morning.”

Not every battle

is meant to be won loudly.

Most are fought

in small, ordinary hours

in patience,

in restraint,

in the decision

to keep going

even when the heart

is tired.

And evening comes

without applause.

Only the quiet knowledge

that the day was lived

with dignity.

Circles

We live life like a line.

We remember it like a line—

straight,

one day leaving another behind.

But when the whole earth moves in circles,

what line are we walking

and where is it leading?

Pause. Breathe. Ask.

How often our lives return

to places we thought we had left.

How quietly our steps

bend back towards one another.

A child steps into a bookstore,

five coins warming his palm.

The shelf holds something he wants,

but the numbers do not add up.

The shopkeeper watches

the big arithmetic in those tiny eyes,

the small hopeful counting

that somehow the numbers

will meet the dream.

The price softens,

a rule bends slightly,

and something that did not fit

into those coins

finds its way into the child’s bag.

The world fills with a bright smile

that coins can never count.

The circle closes

there and then.

… Some circles travel longer arcs.

Sixteen years pass,

monsoons rinsing the city,

new signboards rising,

old buildings learning

the language of dust.

A woman who once sat quietly

in a training room,

having reached there

fighting battles

the world will never see,

now runs a small salon,

mirrors bright

with afternoon light.

And one day a message arrives,

a few words carrying years inside them.

“I remember.

Thank you.”

And somewhere

a moment from another lifetime

finally finds its way home.

There are also circles

that remain open.

Kindness dropped into silence.

Effort swallowed by routine.

Gentle words

falling on tired days.

Even those are not wasted.

They move quietly through the world

like seeds carried by the wind,

closing their circles

in places

we may never see.

In small shops,

in classrooms,

in ordinary afternoons

and extraordinary evenings.

Pause. Breathe. Ask.

When the whole earth moves in circles,

what line are we walking

and where is it leading?

Believe.