story
The Space Between The Words
I used to believe I was a good listener.
In meetings, at home, with friends—I gave people time, maintained eye contact, responded with thoughtful nods. But over the years, I came to understand something quietly humbling: listening is not about hearing words. It’s about receiving presence. And that, I was still learning.
I May Be Small
I May Be Small
I may be small, but I fill big shoes—
When I walk as Shiva, with nothing to lose.
Painted in blue, with cobra and flame,
Yet under it all, I’m still just a name.
No matter what happens, I don’t say a word,
For silence is power, and truth is heard.
I play the god with ash on my brow,
But I’m just a child in the here and now.
Spare a change, not for pity or fame—
But so I can change, and play the next game.
Beyond these colours, this cloth, this disguise,
Lives a dreamer with stardust in his eyes.
My father says this is how gods are born—
Through acts of faith, even tattered and worn.
So don’t worry, dear friend, about that dime,
Just bless the play—it’s eternal, sublime.