I carry quiet stories in the pockets of my days,
Folded like notes I never learned to throw away.
Some are made of courage I didn’t know I had,
Some are stitched from fears I never said aloud.
I smile in crowds while storms learn my name,
Practising bravery like a slow, careful game.
I’ve fallen, risen, and fallen once more,
Each scar a lesson, not a closed door.
I dream in colors brighter than my doubts,
Even when the world tells me to dim them out.
I’ve trusted the wrong voices, ignored my own,
Learned that strength grows best when alone.
I hide tears behind laughter’s art,
Building walls to guard a hopeful heart.
I change, quietly, from season to season,
Searching for truth, not perfect reason.
My past whispers, but it doesn’t decide,
Who I become on the days I try.
These secrets shape me, gentle and wild,
Writing the future of who I am, line by line.
Ramesh Chandra Pradhani
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