She runs where the wild winds blow,Chasing dreams no cage could know.Eyes like lightning, untamed skies,Freedom burning in her cries.They tried to shape her, tie her down,Dress her heart in silk and crown.But she was thunder wrapped in skin,A battle cry that roared within.They called her reckless, called her mad,For wanting more than what she had.But chains and fences, rules and shame —They couldn’t hold what can’t be tamed.She’s storm and sunrise, dust and flame,A spirit no one dares to name.If you reach, you’ll miss the flight,She’s gone by morning, lost in night.So let her run, don’t call her back,Her soul was never meant for lack.Born of wild, too fierce for blame —She lives, she loves, and can’t be tamed.

Her name was Corouge, whispered in winds,Soft like silk, but where fire begins.Eyes held storms, unspoken pain,A heart that danced in pouring rain.She wore scars like hidden art,Maps of battles carved on heart.Laughed like thunder, fierce and bright,But cried alone in endless night.She dreamed of skies beyond the grey,Of places where she'd lose the weight,Of choices made and bridges burned,Lessons loved and never learned.Her name was Corouge — wild and deep,A promise made but hard to keep.She stood on edges, leapt from heights,Chased the dawn but lived in night.If you meet her, you will seeCourage dressed in tragedy.A soul of fire, fierce and strange —Her name was Corouge...And she could never change.

She spoke in parables, soft and slow,Stories wrapped in riddles’ glow.A lesson hidden in every line,Wisdom sweet as aged wine."Be the river," she once said,"Carve the stone, but don’t be led.Flow with purpose, twist with grace,Find the ocean, find your place.""Be the flame," she whispered low,"Warm the lost, but learn to knowWhen to burn and when to fade,Not every hand deserves your blaze.""Be the seed," her voice would hum,"Sink in silence, roots will come.Grow with patience, bloom with pain,Storms will pass, but you remain."I listened close, but never askedWhy her words wore masks and masks.Only later, I’d understand —She spoke in parables,But lived by hand.Every tale she gave awayWas a scar she chose to sayWithout revealing all she’d lost —Her wisdom came at heavy cost.In parables, she left the truth,Hidden lessons from her youth.And now I know — her silence spokeLouder than the words she wrote.

You, a sunflower — bold in bloom,Stretching toward light, dispelling gloom.Roots in silence, yet standing tall,Answering softly each season’s call.Golden face that turns with grace,Chasing warmth in endless space.Even when storms bend your frame,You rise again, still the same.In fields of doubt, you brightly tower,Resilient heart — you, a sunflower.

I am stitched with hope and fray,Threads pulled tight to hold dismay,But tug too hard, and edges weep,Secrets tangled, buried deep.Buttons loose and fabric worn,Dreams once bright now dulled and torn,Every patch a whispered plea,Hold me close, don’t set me free.At the seams, I start to tear,Pulled by weight too much to bear,Yet in unraveling, I find grace —Room to breathe, a softer space.What falls apart reveals what's true:The broken parts make room for new,And though I split from end to end,I mend, I fray — and then I mend.

I'm ColorlessI woke in shades of almost-gray,Where dreams once bloomed now fade away,The sky a wash of empty hue,The dawn arrives, but nothing’s new.Paint dripped dry on canvas wide,Stories muted, tongues that hide,Eyes that search for vivid streams,But find only hollow dreams.The rose has lost its crimson fire,The sun, its warmth, the heart, desire,A world unlit, no spark to find,A palette dulled by tired mind.Yet in the void, a whisper grows —Even silence gently knows:Before the brush returns to kiss,We sit inside the colorless.

In whispers old, the forest speaks,Of golden dawns and shadowed creeks,Where foxes trade in clever lies,And owls wear wisdom in their eyes.A rabbit dreams of lion’s might,While hiding from the hunter’s sight,A crow with jewels in her beak,Loses both for wanting sleek.The river sings of wishes made,Of bargains struck and trust betrayed,Each leaf afloat, a story spun,Of battles lost and others won.But fables end, as night draws near,The lessons loud, the echoes clear —That greed will cost, and pride will fall,And truth, though small, outshines them all.

---The Weight of the Silent StormA quiet storm that rages deep,Within my mind, it doesn’t sleep.A weight that presses, sharp and cold,A silent scream, a pain untold.It swells and roars in twisting waves,Through daylight hours, it misbehaves.The light is cruel, the sound a chain,I wear this burden, fight the pain.A dullness lingers, but still it bites,Shadows blur in muted lights.I try to push, to live, to stand,But every step is grains of sand.Eyes that strain to focus clear,A world that shifts, I disappear.Yet still I rise, though slow, though weak,A warrior in silence, I seek relief.So here I stand, though battered, bruised,A soul too stubborn to be abused.The storm may rage, but I'll remain,A part of me that cannot break.-

she would ask 'How do you feel?"And so loudly I bit my tongue because no words ...No words seemed better than telling her every waking second I feel like sinking my lips into a straight ToddThe liquour had me stuck on fourth streetTurning up with some rythm and bluesCrying to the beatlesMy legs got so loose I made the rain dancePassing out on some purple hazeBuried my pretty face in some in some groinsanything for that pound cakedoey eyes ,bleeding lips or shall I say bleeding heart makes the perfect illness for that cocaineslutty dresses and orgasms make a good hym with that profaneNot religious but that one in a million sack had me on my knees and bent down to the TSo I put the word out on the streetsHad to spread the word but I spread my legs more ,guess I was addicted to the stickI mean mighty is the rodTasted it and had it rawPounded me so hard it hit the coreHad me on the floorbegging for moreA junkie I wasWith mismerising flawsI did'nt have it so I could not flaunt itSo I always had to front itNot the behind I mean that light within that made people think I was so angelicSo innocent ,so good , a saint , a goddess that walked the earth with grace and prideIf they knew that I only cat-walk in the hall of shameThe battle between my head and heart is like the meeting of a volcano and a tornado ,more than a strifeOverwhelmed I almost took my own lifeStaring into my reflection and to get to my soul , had to pierce through my eyesAll I saw was a caged birdie with clipped wings who looks at the clouds so whistfullyA damsel indistress who wishes for her prince to come find herAs she loudly bangs on the door of hell hoping that the darkness might not shun her like the light

---The last part -15The weeks that followed were a quiet kind of progress. Cikizwa found herself waking up earlier each day, her mind clearer, her thoughts more grounded. The anxiety that once gripped her chest had loosened, and though the shadows of her past still lingered, they no longer dictated her every move. She was learning to exist in the present, in this delicate space between who she had been and who she was becoming.She continued to meet the man from the park, their conversations deepening as they discovered more about each other. There was no rush, no pressure to define what was happening between them, and that was part of the beauty. With him, she didn’t feel like she had to pretend or carry any weight other than her own. He was a mirror, reflecting the changes she was undergoing in her own time, without expectation or judgment.One afternoon, as they sat beneath the shade of a large oak tree in the park, he turned to her with a thoughtful expression.“You’ve come a long way,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. “I see it in you.”Cikizwa smiled, but it was a smile that held a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “I still don’t know if I’ve come far enough,” she confessed, looking at the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves. “There are days when it feels like I’m on the right path, but other days... other days, it feels like the weight of everything is going to pull me back.”He didn’t answer immediately, as if letting her words settle in the air between them. Finally, he spoke softly. “You don’t have to be perfect, Cikizwa. You don’t have to be healed in one moment. It’s a process. It’s messy and it’s slow, but you’re doing it.”His words settled over her like a blanket, comforting in their simplicity. Maybe, just maybe, healing didn’t need to be a grand, all-encompassing change. Maybe it was enough to just keep moving, to keep learning, even if it was one small step at a time.The conversation turned lighter, but Cikizwa couldn’t help but feel that this was another lesson in learning to embrace the uncertainty, to trust in the journey itself rather than obsess over the destination.That evening, as she sat in her apartment, scrolling through old photos on her phone, she stumbled upon an image of her younger self, standing proudly in front of a small school building, her face beaming with excitement. It was a picture from a time when life felt simpler, before the complexities of adulthood and the weight of her choices had clouded everything.She paused, staring at the photo. She hardly recognized the girl in the image anymore—the girl full of dreams and hope. But as she studied the picture, a small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. That girl was still there, within her. She wasn’t gone, not entirely. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to reconnect with her, to let that version of herself breathe again.The road ahead would always be uncertain, she knew that. But with each passing day, she was beginning to see that she wasn’t alone on it. Not anymore. She had her own strength, her own capacity to heal, and, for the first time in a long while, she felt ready to continue forward—wherever it might take her.The phone call with her mother, the quiet moments of reflection, the growing bond with the man from the park—each of these steps had opened a door in her heart that she hadn’t even realized was closed. And now, standing at the threshold, she was learning to walk through it with a sense of peace, a sense of possibility.She didn’t have all the answers. She didn’t know exactly what the future would bring. But she no longer feared it. For the first time, she felt like she was truly living—not just surviving. And that was enough.---

---Part Fourteen: The Road ForwardDays turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as Cikizwa’s life slowly began to shift in ways she hadn’t anticipated. The past still hovered on the horizon like a storm cloud, but now, she saw it as something that could only follow her for so long. She had decided to stop running from it and instead face it head-on, allowing herself the freedom to acknowledge her mistakes without letting them define her.She spent more time in the park, writing, thinking, and reading. There was something about the way the sunlight filtered through the trees that made everything feel possible, like the world was full of chances waiting to be taken.It wasn’t just about her healing anymore. It was about learning to embrace the world around her, even with all its imperfections. Cikizwa had spent so much of her life wanting to escape, wanting to outrun the things that hurt, but now she understood that healing came from facing those things, not avoiding them.The man from the park had become a steady presence in her life. They met often for coffee, and their conversations were always different — sometimes deep and philosophical, other times light and casual. It wasn’t a relationship yet, but it was something, and for now, that was enough. Cikizwa had learned to appreciate moments for what they were, without rushing ahead to figure out what they would become.One morning, as they sat in the small café by the park, sipping their drinks, the man glanced over at her with a thoughtful expression."You’ve been quiet lately," he said. "Is everything okay?"Cikizwa hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Things had been good, but there was still something gnawing at her, a quiet restlessness she couldn’t shake."I think," she began, her voice a little uncertain, "I’m realizing something. I’ve spent so much time running from myself, from my past, from my mistakes. I thought if I could just leave everything behind, I could start fresh, be someone else. But... maybe that’s not what healing is about."The man nodded, his gaze gentle. "What do you think healing is about then?"She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I think it’s about accepting everything — the mistakes, the failures, the bad decisions. All of it. It’s about accepting that I can’t change what’s happened, but I can choose what to do next. And that... that’s the part that scares me the most.""Why does it scare you?""Because it means taking responsibility. It means facing up to the consequences of my actions. And sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m ready to do that."There was a long silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The man simply watched her, as though he could see the weight of her thoughts. Finally, he spoke."You’re ready," he said softly. "You’ve been ready for a while now. Healing doesn’t come in big, dramatic moments. It comes in the quiet ones — the times when you choose to show up for yourself, even when it’s hard. And I think you’re doing that. Every day."Cikizwa looked up at him, a little surprised by the softness in his words. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was carrying her past alone. The weight was still there, but it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.As they parted ways that day, Cikizwa felt something stir within her. A quiet strength, something that had been there all along but had been buried under the rubble of her past decisions. She didn’t have all the answers, and she wasn’t sure where the road ahead would lead. But for the first time, she was willing to walk it, no matter how uncertain it felt.The next few weeks passed with a slow, steady rhythm. She focused on her studies, finding a sense of peace in the small victories. The man from the park was still a presence in her life, and they continued to grow closer, though neither of them rushed the process.But there was still one thing that weighed heavily on her heart — her relationship with her mother. Their communication had been minimal since that first message, and Cikizwa couldn’t help but feel the distance between them. She knew her mother loved her, but sometimes it felt like they were strangers, disconnected by years of silence and unspoken words.One evening, after a particularly exhausting day, Cikizwa sat down in her small living room and pulled out her phone. She stared at her mother's number for a long time, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid. Then, with a deep breath, she dialed the number.The phone rang several times before her mother picked up. "Cikizwa?" her voice was soft, but there was a warmth in it that made Cikizwa’s heart ache. "Is everything okay?""Hi, Mom," Cikizwa said, her voice trembling slightly. "I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve been thinking about us. And... I think it’s time we talk."There was a pause on the other end. Then, her mother’s voice, filled with a mixture of relief and hesitation, came through. "I’ve been waiting for this. I’m so glad you called."For the first time in a long time, Cikizwa felt the walls between them begin to crumble. They talked for hours that night, sharing their fears, their regrets, and their hopes for the future. It wasn’t a perfect conversation, but it was real. And for the first time, Cikizwa realized that she wasn’t just healing herself — she was healing the ties that had always bound her, even when she thought they were broken beyond repair.By the time the conversation ended, Cikizwa felt lighter, as though she had finally started to let go of some of the weight she had carried for so long. It wasn’t a cure-all, and the road ahead would still be filled with challenges, but it was a step forward.As she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years. The road ahead was still uncertain, but she was no longer afraid to walk it.For the first time in a long time, she was ready to move forward.---

---Part Thirteen: The Burden of ChoicesTime continued to slip by like sand through her fingers, and Cikizwa found herself at a crossroads. Her life was no longer a constant struggle between the past and the future, but rather, a delicate dance between healing and the reality of the choices she had made. Some days, the weight of her decisions felt like a heavy stone pressing on her chest. Other days, it felt light, almost nonexistent, as if she was stepping into her own skin for the first time.But no matter how far she thought she had come, the ghosts of her past lingered, casting shadows in the corners of her mind.It wasn’t just Sipho who haunted her thoughts, though his influence had waned significantly. There were other faces, other moments — decisions she wished she could take back, people she had hurt or let down. Her choices, she realized, weren’t just about the path she had chosen; they were about the people she had left behind in the process.One evening, after a particularly draining day, she found herself standing outside her apartment building, staring at the city lights. The noise of the street felt distant, almost unreal, as though she were on the outside looking in.It had been a few weeks since she had last seen Sipho, but the tension from that encounter still lingered in her mind. She had chosen to cut him out of her life, but the consequences of that choice had yet to fully reveal themselves. The uncertainty of the future weighed on her, and for the first time in a long while, she wondered if the life she had built was enough. Was she really on the right path? Had she truly made peace with her past?Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. "Cikizwa."She turned to find the man from the park, standing at the foot of the stairs, his eyes soft but serious."Hey," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "What are you doing here?""I wanted to talk to you," he said gently. "About the other night. I know you've been through a lot, and I don’t want to rush you, but I also know that sometimes, you need to hear the truth from someone who isn’t part of your past."Cikizwa looked at him, her chest tightening. She had come to value their conversations, his steady presence. But the truth — the kind that came without illusions — was something she had long avoided. Still, she nodded, motioning for him to come closer."I’m listening," she said, her voice steady, though she could feel the storm brewing inside her.He stepped closer, the air between them charged with a quiet intensity. "I know you’ve been struggling with what you left behind. With the people, the choices you made, the life you walked away from. But you have to understand something, Cikizwa — there’s no perfect answer. No perfect path. There’s only the road you’re walking now, and the person you’re becoming. That’s what matters. Not who you were. Not who you could have been. Only who you are right now."Cikizwa felt something inside her shift, like a lock had clicked into place. His words felt like a lifeline, a reminder that she wasn’t defined by her past. That the future was something she still had the power to shape."I don’t know if I can ever truly move on," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I feel like the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt... I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself."He reached out, gently lifting her chin so that their eyes met. "You don’t have to forgive yourself all at once. Healing isn’t a destination, Cikizwa. It’s a process. And it starts with being kind to yourself. You’re not the same person you were when you made those decisions. And you’re not going to be the same person tomorrow. You’re evolving. We all are. And you deserve to grow, to heal, and to let go."His words were soft but firm, and in that moment, Cikizwa felt something inside her crack open. It wasn’t an easy truth, but it was one that had been waiting for her to hear."Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I needed to hear that."The man smiled, his eyes full of understanding. "You don’t have to carry this alone. You’re stronger than you think. And I’m here for you — whenever you’re ready."Cikizwa nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle into her heart. She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring or where this journey would take her. But for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to face it.---The next few days were a blur of quiet reflection and small steps forward. Cikizwa took time to focus on her classes, her writing, and the growing sense of self-respect that was slowly emerging from the ashes of her past. The decision to rebuild wasn’t an easy one, but every day felt like a new opportunity to get closer to the person she was becoming.One afternoon, as she sat in the park, writing in her journal, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from her mother, a rare occurrence. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened it."Cikizwa, I know things have been hard, and I know you’ve been carrying a lot. But I want you to know that I’m proud of you. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you. You don’t have to do this alone."The words were simple, but they hit her like a wave. For the first time in years, she felt seen, truly seen. And in that moment, she knew she wasn’t just rebuilding her life. She was starting to rebuild her relationships — with herself, with her family, with the world around her.---

---Part Twelve: The Test of TimeThe weeks continued to slip by, and each day felt like a small victory. Cikizwa had faced many battles, but none as fierce as the one she fought with herself. She was still adjusting to the rhythm of her new life, the quiet victories and the occasional setbacks.One of the greatest challenges was learning to trust again — trust herself, trust the choices she was making, and trust that her future could be different. It wasn’t easy. There were days when she questioned everything, wondering if she was really making progress or just pretending. She had learned to hide her vulnerability from others, but sometimes, in the dead of night, it crept up on her, catching her by surprise.Her routine remained largely the same. Classes. Writing. The park. Her small apartment, which had begun to feel like a home, not just a place to hide. Every now and then, she would hear from the man in the park — his presence a gentle reminder that not all people were bound to hurt her. Not all relationships were built on lies or expectations.But just when she thought she was gaining control, something from her past would surface, uninvited, forcing her to confront it.It came one evening, when she was walking home after a long day. The streets were quieter than usual, the city lights casting a soft glow over the sidewalk. She had her headphones in, listening to music, when she heard a familiar voice call her name."Cikizwa!"She froze. The voice was unmistakable. It was Sipho.For a moment, she felt as though her world was spinning. She turned slowly, dread building in her chest. There he was, standing a few feet away, his presence both familiar and unwelcome. He looked the same — cocky smile, expensive clothes, the kind of man who could make anyone feel like they were the center of the universe."Cikizwa," he repeated, his voice a mix of sweetness and something darker. "I’ve been thinking about you. I wanted to check on you."Her pulse quickened. The temptation to fall back into old patterns, to allow him to pull her back into the life she had escaped, was powerful.But she didn’t move. She didn’t flinch."I told you I was done with you, Sipho," she said, her voice steady but firm. "I’ve made my choice."He chuckled, a sound that made her skin crawl. "You think you’re stronger than me now, huh? You think you can just walk away and be free of all of this?""I know I can," she said, taking a small step back, her heart pounding in her chest. "I’m not the same person I was when you and I... When we were together. I’m done."The silence that followed was thick, like a tension hanging in the air, but Cikizwa stood her ground. She wasn’t going to let him win. Not this time. Not ever again."You’ll regret this, Cikizwa," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "You always do."But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she simply turned and walked away, her steps quick but measured. She kept walking, pushing past the familiar ache in her chest, the temptation to look back.As she reached her apartment, she let out a shaky breath. Her hands were trembling, but she was still standing. She had faced him and walked away. That was enough. For tonight, at least.The next few days passed in a blur. Sipho’s words still lingered in her mind, but she refused to let them define her. Every time she thought of him, she reminded herself that she had made a choice. She was done with that life, with the lies, with the pain. She was moving forward, no matter how hard it was.One afternoon, while sitting in the park, Cikizwa received a message from the man she had met a few weeks ago. He’d asked if she wanted to grab coffee again. Her heart fluttered, but she hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy his company; it was just that she wasn’t sure if she was ready for more, if she was ready to let someone else in.But something inside her pushed her to respond, to give it a chance.“I’d like that,” she typed.When they met, it was different. There was no pressure, no expectation. Just two people, sitting together, sharing stories, getting to know one another. Cikizwa didn’t feel like she was pretending, didn’t feel like she had to be someone else. She could just be herself, and that was enough.The man was easy to talk to, open but patient, giving her space when she needed it. They spoke about their hopes, their fears, their lives. He didn’t try to fix her, didn’t try to mold her into anything. He simply accepted her for who she was.It was a small step, but it was an important one. For the first time, Cikizwa allowed herself to feel something that wasn’t rooted in the pain of the past. She allowed herself to feel something real.She didn’t know where this new connection would lead, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t need to know. She could simply enjoy the moment, trusting that whatever came next, she would be ready for it.She had taken another step forward, and this time, it didn’t feel like she was walking alone.---

---Part Eleven: The Struggle WithinThe days turned into weeks, and Cikizwa’s routine became more and more centered on her growth. She was no longer the woman who allowed her past mistakes to define her, but the journey of rebuilding herself was far from simple. There were moments of doubt, moments where the temptation to fall back into old habits felt like an old friend calling her name.The classes were challenging, but each time she learned something new, it felt like a piece of her soul was being put back together. Writing became her therapy, her form of expression. It was a way to make sense of the chaos she had lived through and find clarity in the storm of her emotions.But it wasn’t just the past that haunted her. Sometimes, in the quiet moments, she’d wonder if she was really capable of building a life that didn’t revolve around old patterns. Would she always be tempted by the things she once thought would bring her happiness? Would she always crave the validation and excitement that came with chasing illusions?She was walking a thin line. She had learned to trust herself more, but there were still days when she questioned her ability to stay on the right path.One of those days came unexpectedly.She had just left her class, heading to the park for some quiet time, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting another mundane notification, but it was a message from Sipho. Her heart skipped a beat."Cikizwa, we need to talk."It was short and to the point, but the words hit her like a punch to the gut. She had thought she was done with him. Hadn’t she already walked away? Hadn’t she already made it clear that she was no longer the woman who needed his approval or the life he had promised her?The message wasn’t a request — it was a demand. She could feel the power behind those words, the old dynamic creeping back in, and for a moment, she felt small again.But then she remembered who she was now. The woman who had learned that her worth wasn’t defined by anyone but herself. The woman who had learned to take responsibility for her choices, to embrace her flaws, and to step into her power.Cikizwa took a deep breath and replied, “No. I’m done. I don’t need to talk to you anymore. I’ve already made my choice.”She hit send and didn’t look back.For the first time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. She had said what needed to be said. The weight of his influence on her life was officially gone.But the relief she had expected didn’t come immediately. Instead, there was a lingering uncertainty, a question that still echoed in the back of her mind: Had she truly moved on?She walked to the park, trying to shake off the feeling, but the doubt clung to her. She sat on the same bench she had sat on countless times before, staring at the trees swaying gently in the wind. It was peaceful, but the quiet felt heavy.A soft voice interrupted her thoughts."Hey," it said, and she looked up to see the man from the park, the one she had met a few weeks ago. His presence was familiar now, comforting in a way she hadn’t expected.She gave him a small smile. "Hey."He sat down next to her, his gaze steady but gentle. "You okay?"Cikizwa sighed, unsure how to put it into words. She didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden him with her struggles. But there was something about him that made her feel safe, like she could be real."I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was past all of this. I thought I had moved on. But then he reached out again. And I don’t know if I did the right thing by cutting him off. Maybe I’m just not as strong as I thought I was."The man was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, he spoke, his voice calm and reassuring. "You’re stronger than you think, Cikizwa. Sometimes, moving on isn’t about what you do in the moment. It’s about what you’re willing to let go of, even when it’s hard. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, especially not to someone who’s hurt you."Her eyes met his, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of relief. It wasn’t that his words were a magic cure, but it was the reminder that she didn’t have to walk this journey alone. There were people who would understand, people who would support her without judgment."Thank you," she said softly.He smiled. "Anytime."As they talked, the conversation drifted to lighter topics, and for the first time in a long time, Cikizwa didn’t feel the need to carry the weight of her past. She could be present, not just with him, but with herself.The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, but when she left the park, it was with a newfound sense of hope. Maybe there was more to her life than the pain she had carried for so long. Maybe there was still room for joy, for connection, for something real.---

---Part Ten: The First Step ForwardThe days after the meeting were strange, like a fog lifting slowly from her mind. For the first time in a long time, Cikizwa felt like she could breathe without the weight of regret pressing down on her chest. The encounter with Sipho had been difficult, but it had been necessary.She walked away from that café with the taste of finality lingering on her lips. It wasn’t an easy victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. She had faced her past and survived it, and now she was free.But freedom, she soon realized, was a complicated thing.At first, there was the awkward silence — the space between who she had been and who she was becoming. The old life, the one that had promised her success and excitement, still tugged at her, but the threads were fraying, slowly unraveling. There were moments of doubt, moments when the temptation to go back, to seek out the comfort of the familiar, nearly overtook her. But she had come too far to turn back now.Cikizwa began filling her days with small, deliberate steps forward. She signed up for classes, something she had always dreamed of but never pursued, too busy with everything else. Writing, reading, exploring new ideas — she threw herself into these things with a passion she hadn’t felt in years.The apartment, once a silent sanctuary from her chaos, now felt like a space of potential. She spent hours rearranging her life, getting rid of old clothes, old books, old reminders of the life she was leaving behind. It wasn’t about erasing the past; it was about making room for something new, something better.One afternoon, as she was cleaning out the drawer where she kept old letters and photos, she came across a picture of herself, much younger, standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Her face was bright with excitement, her eyes full of dreams that felt distant now, as if she were looking at someone else.That girl, the one in the photo, had been full of hope, unaware of the storms to come. Cikizwa smiled softly, a pang of bittersweet nostalgia filling her chest. She could still be that girl. She could still dream.She kept the photo, slipping it into her new journal. It was a reminder — a reminder of who she was and who she could still become.The world outside was still the same — bustling, unpredictable, loud — but Cikizwa felt a quiet peace settling in her heart. She wasn’t looking for the life she had once chased, the life she thought would bring her happiness. Instead, she was starting to build a life based on something deeper, something that had been buried beneath the surface all along: herself.It wasn’t a perfect life. There were days when the weight of the past would still creep in, when the shadows of her mistakes would feel too heavy to bear. But Cikizwa knew now that she didn’t have to be defined by them. She could grow, she could change, and she could make different choices — better choices.She started walking the streets of the city more often, exploring places she had never bothered to visit before. She found a small park near her apartment, a peaceful oasis in the middle of the urban sprawl, and began spending her afternoons there, journaling, reading, and reflecting.It was there, one afternoon, that she met someone.A man, not like Sipho, not like the ones from her past. He wasn’t flashy or persuasive or trying to impress her. He was just... himself. Calm, grounded, and kind. They started talking — at first about nothing, but eventually about everything.He asked her what she was working on, and she hesitated for a moment, unsure if she could share. But then she found herself telling him about her dreams — not the ones that had been stolen from her, but the ones she was creating now. About writing, about the classes she was taking, about her journey to rebuild herself.He listened without judgment, without expectation. It felt easy to talk to him, as if she could be real, could be herself without fear of being misunderstood or judged.As they spoke, Cikizwa realized something important. It wasn’t that she needed someone else to fix her — she had learned that the hard way. It was that she needed someone who could accept her as she was, broken pieces and all, and let her grow at her own pace.The conversation ended with a promise to meet again. And for the first time in a long time, Cikizwa allowed herself to hope. Not for a perfect future, not for the life she once imagined, but for a future where she could be free — free from the past, free from the chains of her own regrets, and free to build something real.The first step had been taken. It was a small step, but it was the most important one she had ever made.And as she walked back to her apartment, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.---

---Part Nine: The MeetingCikizwa arrived at the café early, the small table by the window the same place she had sat many times before, a reminder of how far she had come since the days of reckless decisions. The lights of the city outside felt distant now, as if they belonged to someone else. A stranger who didn’t know the pain, the mistakes, or the choices that had brought her to this moment.She ordered a coffee and sat, her fingers tapping nervously on the table. Part of her wanted to leave, to run before the past could reach her, but she knew that running was no longer an option. She had been running for too long. It was time to face what she had left behind, no matter how much it hurt.The door opened, and there he was — Sipho. He was the same, yet different. The same sharp suit, the same confident stride, but his eyes had lost some of the spark they once had. The man who had once seemed invincible now looked... tired.For a moment, neither of them spoke. Sipho stood by the door, looking at her as if he hadn’t quite figured out whether this was real, whether this moment was really happening. Cikizwa met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest.Finally, he took a step forward, his voice low but firm. “Cikizwa, it’s been a long time.”She nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It has.”He sat down across from her, his gaze never leaving her face, as if trying to read her. She knew that look — the one that made her feel like she was being pulled apart, dissected, judged. It had always been there, like a subtle power he held over her.“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Sipho said, his voice softer now. “About us. About everything we could’ve been.”Cikizwa’s mind raced. The old version of her would have listened, would have fallen for his words, his charm. But the woman sitting here now was someone different. The woman who had learned that the past could only hurt her if she let it.“I’m not the same person I was, Sipho,” she said, her voice steady, her hands still. “I’ve changed. I’ve had to. I couldn’t keep living the way I was — for you, for anyone. I couldn’t keep lying to myself.”He looked at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “So that’s it, then? You’re just going to walk away from everything we had?”The question hung in the air like a weight, heavy and suffocating. Cikizwa thought about all the things she had lost, all the choices she had made. She thought about the promises Sipho had made, the things he had promised her she could have.In that moment, she realized something. It wasn’t just the promises that had been broken. It was the trust. The trust she had given him, the trust she had given to herself, the trust she had shattered in her pursuit of a life that wasn’t hers to begin with.“No, Sipho,” she said, the words cutting through the silence. “It’s not about walking away. It’s about knowing that I’ve given enough of myself to the wrong things. To the wrong people.”He reached across the table, his hand brushing hers, but she pulled back, the touch a reminder of the life she had left behind.“You can’t change the past,” he said, his voice tinged with a sadness she hadn’t expected. “You can’t undo everything.”“I know,” she replied softly. “But I can change my future.”For the first time since they had sat down, Sipho seemed to hesitate. His usual confidence faltered, and in that moment, he seemed almost vulnerable — a man who had built an empire out of lies and manipulation, now facing the reality that the woman sitting across from him was no longer someone he could control.Cikizwa stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. “I’m done,” she said, her voice firm, steady. “Done with running, done with pretending, done with believing that I could have it all. I’ve lost enough of myself, and I’m not going to lose any more.”She turned to leave, but as she walked toward the door, she paused. She didn’t look back, but the weight of her words hung in the air like a challenge, a promise to herself that she would never go back.She stepped outside into the cool night air, the city humming around her, but for the first time in a long time, she felt lighter. The decision had been made. She had faced the past, confronted it, and left it behind.Now, she could truly begin again.---

---Part Eight: The CrossroadsThe weeks turned into months, and Cikizwa began to feel a sense of strength she hadn’t known in years. It wasn’t the kind of strength that came from power or control, but from vulnerability — the kind that came from admitting her mistakes and accepting the consequences of her choices. She wasn’t the same person she had been, but that was okay. She wasn’t sure who she was yet, but at least she was no longer running from herself.But even in the quiet of her newfound peace, the ghosts of her past never truly left. They lingered in the corners of her mind, in the messages from old friends, the calls from the man who had once held her heart. She had blocked them all — except for one.It was late one evening when she received a call from the one person she had avoided for months. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name on the screen. Sipho.He had been the one who had pulled her into this life — the one who had shown her the taste of ambition, of success, and of a world beyond what she had known. He had been the one to promise her the world, but he was also the one who had betrayed her, used her, and discarded her when she no longer fit his image of what she should be.Cikizwa had tried to move on, tried to forget about him. But no matter how much time passed, he always seemed to find a way back into her life.She let the phone ring for a while, her thumb hovering over the "decline" button. She could hear his voice in her head — smooth, persuasive, full of promises. She had heard it all before, and yet, something inside her wanted to pick up, to hear what he had to say, even if it was just to relive the past.The call ended, but a message followed almost immediately."Cikizwa, I know we’ve been through a lot, but I need to see you. We need to talk. I’ve changed. I know I hurt you, but I want to make things right. Can we meet?"The message was simple, yet it felt like a weight on her chest. Part of her wanted to believe him — the part of her that had once loved him, the part that had once trusted him with her heart. But another part of her, the part that had been learning to rebuild, knew better.She had spent so long running toward a future that wasn’t hers, chasing a dream that had never been hers to begin with. She had tried to rebuild herself, piece by piece, and now she stood at a crossroads, where the past and present collided.Her mind raced as she sat there, staring at the message.Could she meet him? Would it change anything?She knew what the answer should be — that she had moved on, that she was stronger now, that she didn’t need him. But the truth was, she didn’t know. The past had a way of holding on, and it had a way of drawing her back in when she least expected it.But there was something else she realized as she stared at the message: Maybe she needed closure more than she needed him.The past had been haunting her for too long, and maybe it was time to face it, not out of some misguided hope for reconciliation, but to put an end to it. To close that chapter once and for all.She took a deep breath, her hands shaking slightly as she typed her reply."Okay. I’ll meet you."The decision felt like both a weight and a release. She knew this meeting wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t fix the mistakes they had made or undo the damage they had caused. But it would bring clarity. It would bring the finality she had been searching for.And maybe, just maybe, it would allow her to move on.---

---Part Seven: The Slow RebuildingThe days that followed were filled with a new kind of quiet — one that felt unsettling and foreign. Cikizwa had always been used to noise, to distractions, to the hum of the city and the constant chatter of her social life. But now, in the silence of her apartment, the weight of her choices pressed down on her like a constant, heavy hand.She spent hours in her small apartment, thinking. There were no more parties, no more late-night phone calls, no more excuses. She was alone with herself, and it was terrifying. But somewhere, deep inside, a voice whispered that this was what she needed.The first step toward healing was accepting that she was broken. Not in a way that could be fixed overnight, not with new clothes or another fancy dinner out. It was a deep, internal kind of brokenness — one that had nothing to do with the external world. It was about the choices she had made, the things she had compromised, and the soul she had sold in exchange for a life that wasn’t hers to begin with.One evening, Cikizwa found herself on the small balcony again, staring at the city skyline. The lights were still bright, but they didn’t shine the way they used to. They felt cold now, distant, like something she could never touch again. She wondered if it was the city that had changed or if it was her. She suspected it was the latter. She had changed. She had lost herself, and she didn’t know how to find her way back.But she was trying. She had started going back to the basics — the things she used to love before all the noise and distractions had taken over. She started reading again, books she had forgotten she loved, stories that reminded her of who she used to be. She even began to write, her words flowing in a way they hadn’t in years. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.Her phone still buzzed with messages from her past life, but she no longer felt the need to reply immediately. She knew she had to take control of her life again. It would take time, but she had to do the hard work — the internal work — to figure out who she truly was, beyond the broken pieces of the person she had become.One morning, she walked into a small café, a little place tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was a stark contrast to the trendy spots she used to frequent. There were no flashy lights or loud music here. Just the soft hum of conversation and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She sat by the window, watching the people pass by, their lives full of stories she would never know.For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of peace. It wasn’t the kind of peace that came from escaping the pain, but the kind that came from facing it head-on. The kind of peace that came from accepting the truth — that she was broken, but not beyond repair.As she sat there, sipping her coffee, she thought about her family, her friends back home. The girl who had left with high hopes, the girl who had dreamed of a different life — she wasn’t gone. She was still there, buried beneath all the layers of mistakes and regrets.Cikizwa didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t know if she would ever be the person she once was, or if she even wanted to be. What she did know was that she had started to take the first steps toward rebuilding herself.It wasn’t easy. Some days were harder than others. The loneliness still crept in, and the guilt would often threaten to pull her under. But little by little, piece by piece, she was learning to accept herself again — flaws and all.She was learning that healing wasn’t a straight line. It wasn’t about erasing the past, but about accepting it, living with it, and finding a way to move forward despite it.And for the first time in a long time, Cikizwa allowed herself to hope — not for a perfect future, but for one where she could find peace with herself. She had lost so much, but she was beginning to realize that she had not lost everything. There was still a part of her worth saving.It was a start.---

---Part Six: The Breaking PointThe days blurred into each other as the weight of her decisions continued to settle in. Cikizwa moved through life with a sense of heaviness that was too much to ignore, but not enough to move her into action. Every smile, every handshake, every interaction felt like a performance — something she had to fake, just to get by. It had become so much easier to put on a mask and pretend she was fine. But deep inside, she was falling apart.The messages from her family had grown more frequent, more desperate, but Cikizwa couldn’t find the words to respond. She couldn’t bring herself to tell them the truth: that she had lost herself, that she was consumed by this life she had fought so hard to build. She had everything and yet nothing. Every choice had led her to a place where she couldn’t even recognize the person in the mirror anymore.One evening, when the weight of it all became too much, she found herself on the balcony of her apartment again, staring out at the sprawling city that had once promised her so much. The neon lights were blinding, like the memories of her past — sharp and glaring, too bright to ignore.It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to feel the pain of it all. For months, she had avoided facing the truth, avoiding the darkness that lingered in her chest. But tonight, it all came rushing back. The love she had once felt, the hope she had once carried — everything had slipped through her fingers, and now she was left with nothing but the remnants of a dream.The city that had promised freedom felt like a labyrinth now, a place of endless tunnels and dead ends. She had sought power, success, and validation, and in return, she had lost herself. The things she had thought would bring her happiness had only deepened her emptiness.It was then that she thought about the moment she had first left her rural home, the excitement that had filled her chest as she boarded the bus to the small town. It had been a fresh start, a chance to escape. But looking back now, she realized that the escape had been a trap — one she had willingly walked into, hoping it would lead to something better.But what had she really gained?Nothing she had could fill the void inside her. No material possession, no social status, no relationship, nothing. All the things she had chased had been illusions, and now they were crumbling around her.In that moment, the weight of it all became too much. The realization hit her like a hammer — she couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t undo what she had done. She had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.Her phone buzzed again. A message from the man who had once meant everything to her. The one who had promised her the world, only to leave her stranded in a world of empty promises."Cikizwa, we need to talk."The message felt like the final blow. She had tried to hold on, tried to believe that things would get better, but the truth was undeniable now: their relationship was a facade. He was a symbol of everything she had given up — her values, her morals, her soul — all for a life that wasn’t even real.Tears began to fall, slow and steady, until they were pouring down her face. She had spent so long running from herself, from the truth, and now she was paying the price. She had reached the breaking point, the place where there was no more denial, no more pretending.She had done this to herself. Every decision, every choice, every relationship — it had led her here, to this broken version of herself.But in the midst of the pain, she realized something: maybe the breaking wasn’t the end. Maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of something else. Something that would require the hardest work she had ever done. Rebuilding herself from the ground up.The first step was accepting the truth — that she had lost herself. But perhaps the second step was forgiving herself. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way back to the woman she used to be.For now, though, all she could do was sit in the darkness and feel the weight of her choices.---

---Part Five: The Ghosts of the PastWeeks passed, but the numbness never quite lifted. Cikizwa found herself walking through her days like a shadow of who she used to be, a mere imitation of the woman who had once dreamt of so much more. Her work became a distraction, but it wasn’t enough to fill the void. She had everything she had ever wanted in terms of material wealth, but her soul felt like a barren landscape, stripped of color and life.The apartment, with all its cold, sleek edges, no longer felt like a home. It felt like a cage. And the loneliness — the isolation — was becoming unbearable. She tried to ignore it, tried to drown it out with shopping, parties, and hollow conversations with the people she called her "friends," but the emptiness would not go away.It was during one of those long, sleepless nights when her phone buzzed with a message. It was from her mother. She hadn’t spoken to her in months."Cikizwa, we miss you. I’ve been praying for you. You’ve changed, my child. We are worried."The words cut through her like a knife. “We are worried.” She hadn’t realized how much her family’s love and concern had meant to her until that moment. The disconnect between them had been growing, but it hadn’t truly registered. Now, with the weight of her decisions bearing down on her, she understood.Her fingers hovered over the screen. A part of her wanted to respond, to apologize, to explain why she had chosen this path. But the words felt hollow, like a lie she had been telling herself for far too long.It was then that the past — the things she had tried so hard to bury — began to resurface. It wasn’t just her family’s concern that weighed on her. It was the people back home, the friends she had left behind, the ones who had once been her world. They had trusted her, loved her for who she was. And now, all she had to offer them were fragmented versions of herself.She closed her eyes, the memories flooding back: the laughter under the stars, the long walks through the fields, the quiet moments of peace before her ambitions had clouded her mind. There had been a time when she had been whole, when her soul was intact. And now, as she sat in this high-rise apartment, surrounded by all the things she thought would bring her happiness, she realized how much of herself she had lost in pursuit of something that was never truly hers.But it wasn’t just her past that haunted her now. The choices she had made, the people she had allowed into her life, were starting to unravel. She couldn’t pretend anymore. Her relationship with the man who had promised her the world was crumbling, a mirror of her own fractured soul. He no longer saw her as the woman who had once captivated him; she was just another pawn in his game.One night, she found herself standing at the edge of the city, looking down at the chaotic lights below. The city that had promised freedom, success, and power now felt like a prison. She could hear the hum of traffic, the constant movement of people, but she felt utterly still.She had everything, yet nothing. She had been running for so long, chasing a dream that wasn’t hers to catch. The price of that dream was too high, and now she had to live with the consequences.As the cool night air wrapped around her, Cikizwa finally allowed herself to face the truth: there was no going back. The person she had once been — the girl who had believed in something pure and good — was gone. The girl who had dreamed of a better life had become someone unrecognizable.But the ghosts of the past — the love, the friendships, the innocence — still lingered in the corners of her mind, reminding her of what could have been. And though she was lost in this city, in the wake of her decisions, a small part of her hoped that, somehow, she could find a way to rebuild.The question was: could she ever find a way back to herself? Or had she gone too far?--

---Part Four: Facing the MusicThe days that followed were a blur. Cikizwa tried to bury herself in her work, but even the constant hustle of the city couldn’t drown out the echoing void inside her. Every step she took felt like walking through quicksand — each movement heavier than the last, every breath more laborious.She avoided her phone, avoided the calls and messages from friends and family back home. They were reminders of who she had been, of the girl who had dreamt of a better life with an open heart. Now, all she saw when she looked in the mirror was a reflection of someone unrecognizable — someone who had compromised her very essence for the sake of a dream that had turned into a nightmare.One day, in a rare moment of stillness, she returned to her apartment after work and collapsed onto the couch. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the city’s hum that had once felt so alive now only suffocated her. She grabbed the bottle of wine on the counter, not even bothering to pour it into a glass. She needed something to numb the pain, something to help her forget the gnawing feeling of regret that had taken root deep inside her.The silence in the apartment was deafening. She looked around at the expensive furniture, the designer clothes hanging in her closet, the shoes lined up in neat rows, and she felt nothing but emptiness. These material things, the symbols of success, had not filled the space inside her where her spirit used to live.She reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over the messages that had been left unread."Cikizwa, we’re worried about you.""It’s not too late to turn back."Her finger wavered. Her friends, the ones who had seen her at her best and worst, were still reaching out, still caring. But it was too late, wasn’t it? Could she ever go back to being the person they remembered? Could she reclaim the pieces of herself that had been lost?That night, she sat by the window, staring out at the city lights, her mind swirling with the weight of her choices. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel the full force of what she had done.She had wanted the life she dreamed of, but what she hadn’t realized was that the price wasn’t just the sacrifices she made along the way — it was her soul. Her very sense of self had been chipped away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the remnants of someone who had forgotten who they were.In the quiet of the night, she allowed herself to grieve. Grieve for the person she had been, for the path she had walked so confidently, for the dreams that had been shattered in the process. The loneliness she felt now was deeper than anything she had ever known.And yet, somewhere beneath all the pain, there was a faint flicker of something else. A small, fragile hope that perhaps, someday, she could rebuild. Perhaps she could face the music, accept the consequences of her choices, and find a way to make peace with who she had become.But that would take time. Time she didn’t know if she had.For now, Cikizwa simply sat in the dark, listening to the city outside, knowing that no matter how hard she tried, she could never outrun the past.--

---Part Three: The Cracks Beneath the SurfaceCikizwa stood on the balcony of the apartment she had moved into in the city, gazing out at the glittering skyline. The lights sparkled in the distance like the stars she had once dreamed of reaching. But now, standing here, she couldn’t shake the emptiness gnawing at her. The city — the life she had fought for, sacrificed for — wasn’t everything she thought it would be.She had the apartment, the designer clothes, the social circles she’d once fantasized about. But every evening felt the same, a blur of faces and shallow conversations. She was surrounded by people, but it felt like she was invisible. Even in her most extravagant moments, the loneliness crept in like a shadow, whispering that she had sold a piece of herself in exchange for the life she thought she deserved.The man she had once trusted — the one who had promised her the world — was slipping away, too. Their relationship had started with passion and excitement, but it had quickly dissolved into something hollow. He was a reflection of all her choices: empty, distant, and cold. He didn’t care for her soul, her values, or the person she had once been. He cared only for the parts of her that could benefit his ambitions.It had been months since she’d seen her friends from back home. The ones who had shared her laughter and her dreams. They had reached out, sent messages, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. She didn’t want to admit how far she had fallen, how much she had changed. They would never understand. No one could.One evening, she went out to a club with some acquaintances from work. The lights were blinding, the music deafening, but it all felt like a blur, like she was trapped in a dream that had turned into a nightmare. She danced, drank, and laughed, but the joy felt distant, like a mask she had put on for the sake of fitting in.That night, something broke inside her.As the night wore on and the crowd around her grew more chaotic, she stumbled into a corner of the club, away from the noise. Her breath was shallow, and her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the bar, fighting back tears. The feeling of losing herself — truly losing herself — hit her like a wave. The decisions she had made, the people she had let into her life, the pieces of her soul she had given away — they all seemed so clear now, so painfully obvious.She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. The pain in her chest was suffocating, the weight of everything she had lost bearing down on her like a storm. And yet, there was no escape. She had chased this life for so long, but now it was as if the very thing she had wanted was slipping through her fingers.Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from an old friend, someone from her hometown. She opened it with shaking hands."I hope you're doing okay, Cikizwa. I miss the old you. We all miss you. Don't forget who you are. You're still our sister."The words hit her like a punch to the gut. "Don't forget who you are." How had she allowed herself to forget? How had she let the hunger for success, the desire for validation, erase the person she once was?The tears came, slow at first, then faster, until she couldn’t hold them back anymore. She had everything she thought she wanted, but in the process, she had lost herself — her morals, her self-respect, her soul.And now, in the darkest corner of the city she had dreamed of, Cikizwa realized the truth: you can’t have it all, at least not all at once. Some sacrifices leave scars that never fade.She stumbled out of the club that night, her mind reeling, her heart heavy. She couldn’t go back to the past. She couldn’t undo the choices she had made. But what was left for her now? What was she supposed to do with the broken pieces of herself?

Part Two: The Cost of AmbitionThe days blurred together after that night, each one heavier than the last. Cikizwa’s longing for a different life only grew, consuming her thoughts and driving her actions. The small town felt more suffocating with every passing moment. The paths she once walked with ease now seemed to close in around her, a reminder that she had outgrown this place, or so she told herself. She no longer saw the village with the same fondness. It was a place of stagnation, and she was suffocating.She found herself spending more time with people who promised the world but offered nothing but false hope. A friend from the next town over had connections — connections to people in the city, people who could open doors. All Cikizwa had to do was make the right moves, make the right sacrifices.And so, the tipping point came.One evening, as she sat with the friend who had whispered of opportunities, the conversation took a dark turn. “You want the life, Cikizwa?” the friend asked, leaning in, a predatory smile curling on her lips. “Then you have to play the game. The rules are simple: give what they want, and they’ll give you what you want. But don’t hesitate. Don’t wait too long. This is your chance. Your one shot.”The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Cikizwa’s heart raced as her mind reeled. She could see it — the bright city lights, the success, the admiration. The life she’d always dreamed of. All she had to do was step across a line she had never considered before. A line that would mean crossing a boundary in her own heart, a boundary she thought she’d never cross.But in that moment, the desire was too strong. She was tired of waiting, tired of sacrificing. The chance to get everything she wanted was right in front of her. The man who’d whispered in her ear, the people she’d become entangled with — they promised a future so much bigger than the one she could ever have here. It felt like destiny, but it came with strings attached.Cikizwa took the plunge. She made the decision.In the days that followed, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something essential had slipped through her fingers. Something irreplaceable. But the promises of success and power were too sweet to ignore. She started making moves — small ones at first, testing the waters. Then came the bigger steps, the sacrifices she never thought she’d make. Every choice felt like one step further from the person she had been, and yet, she convinced herself it was all for the greater good. She told herself that the price would be worth it.But as the weeks turned into months, Cikizwa realized something painful. The life she’d longed for was slipping away from her, and in its place, she was losing herself.Her friendships had faded, replaced by shallow interactions with people who only cared about what she could do for them. The man who once seemed like her escape had become a hollow shell of the person she’d hoped he would be. And the choices she’d made — the ones that had once seemed so easy, so necessary — now weighed heavily on her soul.The tipping point had come, and she was drowning in the consequences.

Cikizwa stood at the edge of the rural village, her gaze stretching toward the horizon where the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the fields. The village she’d grown up in was quiet, but it was never still. Life here was slow, predictable, but she was restless. Restless for something more, something beyond the familiar dirt roads and simple homes.She had always felt like an outsider in her own world — not because of who she was, but because of what she yearned for. The other girls in the village were content with the simplicity of their lives, the comfort of family, tradition, and love. But for Cikizwa, that wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted the city’s lights, the sound of ambition in the air, and a life that meant something beyond survival.The dream was clear in her mind: to move to the city, to find success, to be someone. It wasn’t just the luxury she desired, but the recognition, the freedom to be someone new, someone important.But the price of her dreams was a quiet burden, a weight she hadn’t yet fully understood.Her relationships, the friendships she’d built over the years, felt different now. As the years had passed, she found herself surrounded by people who couldn’t understand her desires. The friends who were once her sisters in spirit, who shared in her laughter and late-night talks, now seemed small, trapped in the same place she’d been born into.And then there were the partners she chose. Men who were as lost as she was, chasing fleeting desires and empty promises. Each relationship left a mark, a reminder of how far she was from the life she craved.One night, after yet another argument with a man who didn’t know how to love, Cikizwa stood in front of the mirror, the reflection staring back at her like a stranger. Who was she becoming? The girl who dreamed of a better life or the woman who lost herself in the pursuit of it?That night, something shifted inside her. The promise of something more became clearer — and the cost of that promise became a lot more real.-

If "I Love You" Was a PromiseIf "I love you" was a promise, would you keep it like gold,Or let it rust in the rain, growing brittle and cold?Would you wear it like armor, unyielding, so true,Or shed it like snakeskin when something feels new?Would it sit on your lips, soft-spoken, yet real,Or slip through your teeth when there's nothing to feel?If "I love you" was a promise, not easy to break,Would you still say it, or would your voice shake?

Woman of SorrowShe wakes to a world that forgets she exists,A ghost in the mirror, a name on no lips.Her laughter was buried in years left behind,Now silence is kinder than voices unkind.The walls do not whisper, they stare and they sneer,Mocking the weight of her uncried tears.Her hands once held love, now they cradle the air,A widow to hope, too broken to care.She drowns in a bed that remembers his scent,Time moves, but her heart is forever cement.No letters, no footsteps, no knock on the door—She is the woman the world needs no more.

She is Delilah, Descendant of LilithShe walks in shadows, silent, sly,A serpent's grace in a goddess’ eye.Delilah’s blood, her heart a flame,A name whispered with fear and shame.From Lilith's womb, she learned the art,To tear a soul, to break a heart.Her touch is sweet, her kiss a lie,A spell spun soft beneath the sky.Her beauty's poison, her smile a snare,Men fall like prey, unaware.She dances in the dark, unseen,A queen of demons, born to scheme.Delilah’s whispers call the sin,Lilith’s fury rages within.She is the storm, the moon, the flame,A woman forged to rule and tame.And when they beg, and when they fall,She claims her prize—her soul, their all.A descendant, proud, a lover, a thief,She takes it all, and leaves them grief.

She’s a DevilShe’s a devil dressed in satin lace,A wicked grin upon her face.Her eyes burn bright with unholy fire,Temptation wrapped in pure desire.Her voice, a song that steals your breath,A siren's call, a dance with death.She whispers sins you’ll never forget,Luring you deeper into regret.She wears her sins like they’re gold,A tempting promise, deadly, bold.Her touch, a curse you can’t erase,She leaves you haunted in her embrace.She’s the chaos that stirs your soul,The darkness that swallows you whole.A devil’s kiss, a devil’s grin—She takes your heart and pulls you in.And when you’re lost, when you’re undone,She’ll leave you broken, but never gone.For she’s a devil, cruel and true,And when you fall, she falls with you.

Favors’ DeceptionShe dealt in whispers, in debts unseen,A smile so soft, yet sharp and keen.A favor here, a promise there,A web spun tight in poisoned air.They called her kind, they called her fair,Never saw the dagger there.Each gift she gave was laced with thread,Tied to throats of those she fed.He asked for help, she lent her hand,Now he drowns in shifting sand.She never takes—she lets you give,Until you owe the right to live.And when they beg, and when they break,She counts the souls, the tolls they make.No theft, no crime, just one correction—A world that favors pure deception.

Smoking MirrorsThe room is full, but I’m all alone,Choking on echoes carved into stone.Faces blur in the cigarette haze,Lies flicker soft in the ember’s gaze.The mirror breathes, it shifts, it lies,A hollow stare in borrowed eyes.I reach for truth, but it turns to mist,Slipping like lovers I never kissed.Whiskey drips like a broken clock,Ticking slow as my ribs unlock.The past leans in with a cigarette grin,Says, “You can’t outrun what you’ve buried within.”Smoke curls up, the mirror cracks,Reflection splinters, never comes back.So I pour another, watch the room decay,And fade like the ghosts who taught me to stay.

Angel in TibetShe stands alone on mountain peaks,Where silence speaks and the cold wind leaks.A halo lost in snow and mist,An angel’s wings, too pale to resist.The air is thin, the prayers are long,But she remains, a haunting song.Her eyes, a storm, a sea of grief,Her touch, a blessing turned to brief.She’s sent to heal, to lift the soul,But in her heart, she feels the toll.Tibet’s winds carry ancient cries,Echoing through her shattered skies.Her wings are dust, her voice is clear,Yet shadows linger, feeding fear.For angels bleed, they feel the weight,And in their grace, they cannot escape fate.She’s beautiful, but broken too,An angel lost, with no home to view.In Tibet’s mountains, high and wide,She searches for peace she can never find.

GREENShe moves like ivy, soft and wild,A touch of earth, a spirit child.Her skin, like moss, absorbs the sun,A lover of life, but still undone.Green in her veins, in her eyes, her breath,A pulse that lingers, stirs life and death.The forest calls, the soil responds,She dances through the garden’s bonds.But even leaves, in time, must fall,Her heart too heavy to heed the call.The green that grows begins to choke,A wildness twisted, turned to smoke.She reaches for the sky, the sun,But the earth beneath her has already won.A garden full of blooms, yet still,A thirst that nothing can fulfill.Her roots are deep, her branches torn,For green is life, but green is worn.She'll grow again, but fade once more—A never-ending, aching war.

Parting the Red SeasFingertips trace like prophets divine,Splitting the waves where hunger aligns.Mouths like scripture, tongues like sin,Drowning deep, baptized within.The moonlight drips in molten red,Candles flicker, shadows spread.Hands like serpents, winding tight,A whispered prayer, a bitten bite.She parts like oceans, raw and wide,A kingdom wrecked, a rising tide.His breath is smoke, her hips are chains,A flood of lust, a hymn of pain.No promised land, no holy grace,Just bodies lost in time and space.And when they’re spent, and drowned, and free,They beg again—part me, part me.

The Bottle’s SinsThe bottle whispers, soft and low,Promises things it doesn’t know.Just one sip, it hums, so sweet,Just one more, and you’ll feel complete.He listens close, he drinks it down,Lets amber lies erase the frown.The past dissolves, the pain turns thin,Drowning deep in the bottle’s sins.But morning comes like a sharpened blade,Slashing through the deals he made.A mirror full of hollow eyes,A body soaked in whiskey lies.He swears it off—he won’t give in,But the bottle winks, and calls again.It never leaves, it never dies,Just waits for thirst behind his eyes.

Melanin SkinDripping gold in the kiss of the sun,Midnight smooth when the day is done.A shade so deep, a touch so rare,History hums in the curls of her hair.Melanin skin like earth untamed,Carved from stars, kissed by flames.She walks, they watch, they crave, they sin,Lost in the pull of her cinnamon skin.Lips like gospel, hands like fire,Eyes that promise, tongues conspire.They want to taste, they want to drown,To worship soft and burn her down.But she is storm, she is stone,Dripping honey, steel, and bone.A hymn, a war, a whispered sin,Untamed, unbowed—melanin.

He Said It Was She SaidHe said it was she said, and she said it was him,The truth drowned silent in a bottle of gin.A love once gold, now rusted and dead,Buried in words they both never said.She swore he had promised, he laughed in her face,He carved out her hope, left a void in its place.She screamed in the night, but the walls never cared,And silence applauded how well she despaired.He said she was crazy, she said he was cruel,He played with her heart like a broken old tool.She built him a castle; he burned it for fun,Then claimed she had torched it and swore he was done.The neighbors all whispered, the town had their bets,On which one would drown in a sea of regrets.She packed up her sorrow, he packed up his pride,Two ghosts in the mirror, both hollow inside.He said it was she said, and she said it was fate,The love they once worshipped just rotting in state.And when they were nothing but whispers and dust,Their stories still argued—who shattered who first?

Her CrownShe wears her crown like thunder’s roar,Heavy with the battles fought before.A crown of scars, of broken vows,Worn with grace beneath furrowed brows.Each jewel glints with stolen dreams,And every diamond cracks and gleams.The weight she carries, none can see,Yet still, she stands—unbowed, free.Her hands are soft, but her heart is iron,Forged in fires no soul could quieten.She is the storm, the queen, the blade,A crown of thorns in her soul’s parade.They try to take it, to make her small,But she wears it proud, above it all.For in her mind, she knows the truth—Her crown was forged in endless youth.

SmokesShe inhales the night like it’s her last,The smoke curls up, a shadow cast.A cloud of nothing, a fleeting dream,Filling the void with silent screams.Each drag, a memory left behind,A past that lingers, hard to find.The smoke, a veil for truths unspoken,A mask for hearts that have been broken.Her lungs burn deep, her soul ignites,Chasing the ashes through endless nights.The smoke whispers secrets she can't forget,A love once lived, a soul once set.She exhales the pain, the lies, the lies,Watching them dissipate, fade from her eyes.But it always returns, like a ghost untamed,Smokes rising, but nothing ever changed.Her heart’s still heavy, but the haze feels sweet,A fleeting comfort, incomplete.And when the smokes clear, the silence screams—A broken heart stitched in smoky dreams.

SunsetShe drapes herself in embered silk,a quiet surrender to the night.Once bold, once burning,now she crumbles into hues of longing,melting into the arms of something vast,something endless.Golden laughter fades into whispers,shadows stretch like forgotten promises,spilling softly over the edge of time.She was fire once—now just a glow, a memory,a slow descent into quiet oblivion.But even as she vanishes,her warmth lingers,traced in the hush of the wind,held in the eyes of dreamerswho still remember the wayshe made the world burn.

As Daniel lay in that sterile hospital bed, something gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. A shadow in his mind, a whisper beneath his heartbeat. He had been close—so close—to something on the other side. But now, something was close to him.That night, when Claire finally fell asleep in the chair beside him, the room grew colder. The steady beeping of the monitor slowed. Daniel felt his chest tighten, a suffocating weight pressing against him.Then he saw her.Lena.Not as he remembered. Her skin was gray, slick with something unnatural. Her eyes, hollow and black, bore into him. She stood at the foot of his bed, unmoving. Watching."You left me," she whispered.His pulse spiked. "Lena…?""You chose them. You chose to live."Daniel struggled to sit up, but his body was leaden, pinned by an invisible force. The machines around him flickered, their rhythmic beeping warping into a discordant wail."You don’t get to walk away," Lena hissed. Her lips peeled back in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "You belong to me now."A pressure built in his chest, a suffocating force, as if unseen hands were reaching inside him, twisting, pulling. His vision blurred, and he felt himself slipping—not just into unconsciousness, but somewhere else. Somewhere cold.And then he saw it.The river.Not the one he had fallen into. Not the one that nearly took his life. This was something worse. The water was black as oil, thick as tar, filled with writhing figures just beneath the surface. They weren’t swimming. They were drowning.Dying.He recognized some of the faces. People he had wronged. People who had vanished. People no one had found.He wasn’t just haunted by his past. He was tethered to it.And then he understood.Lena had never been his salvation.She had been his reaper.And now, she had come to collect.---To be continued...

---Daniel woke with a sharp inhale, the sting in his side anchoring him back to reality. The fluorescent light overhead burned his eyes, and the steady beep of a heart monitor reminded him that he was still here—still breathing.His throat was dry, his limbs heavy. He tried to move, but pain flared in his stomach, forcing him to stay still. As his vision adjusted, he took in his surroundings. A hospital room. White walls, an IV drip, the distant murmur of voices outside the door.Then he saw her.Not Lena.A woman sat beside his bed, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked exhausted, her dark curls pulled back into a messy bun. When she noticed him staring, her breath caught."Daniel?" Her voice was a mix of disbelief and relief.It took him a moment to place her. "Claire?"She let out a shaky laugh. "You scared the hell out of me."Claire. His sister. The only family he had left.His memory came back in jagged pieces—the bar fight, the knife, the rain. And then Lena. The river. The choice."How long?" His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper."Three days." Claire leaned forward, gripping his hand. "You lost a lot of blood. They weren’t sure if you’d make it."Three days. He had been drifting between life and death for three days.Daniel swallowed hard. The feeling of the river, of Lena’s touch, still lingered on his skin. He had been so close—closer than he had ever been before. But he was still here."You shouldn’t have come," he muttered.Claire’s eyes darkened. "Of course I came. You almost died, Daniel. And for what?" She shook her head. "I thought you were getting better."He had thought so too. But the past had a way of dragging him back under."You don’t have to do this alone," she said, softer this time. "You still have people who care about you."Daniel exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers.He wasn’t sure what came next. He wasn’t sure how to fix what was broken. But for the first time in a long time, he realized something.He wanted to try.---

---Darkness swallowed Daniel whole. For a moment—maybe an eternity—there was nothing. No rain. No pain. No sound. Just the weightless drift of a soul untethered.Then, a light. Faint, pulsing, like the slow heartbeat of something ancient.Daniel opened his eyes.He stood on a shore, the river stretching endlessly before him. The water was impossibly still, its surface reflecting a sky that had no stars, only swirling shadows. Cold mist curled around his feet, and the air carried the scent of something long forgotten—memories, regrets, whispers of the past.And Lena.She stood at the water’s edge, her back to him, her dark hair moving as if stirred by an unseen breeze. She was no longer drenched, no longer broken. When she turned, her face was calm, her eyes deep and unreadable."You came," she said.Daniel swallowed. "Where are we?" His voice sounded different here, distant, as if spoken from the bottom of a well.Lena tilted her head slightly. "The place between.""The place between what?"She stepped closer, her bare feet leaving no imprint on the sand. "Between what was… and what comes next."Daniel’s chest tightened. He remembered the fight. The knife. The way his strength had drained out of him in that alley, washed away by the rain. He looked down, expecting to see blood, a wound—but there was nothing. His body felt whole, yet weightless."I'm dead," he murmured.Lena’s lips pressed together, something like sadness flickering across her face. "Not yet. But close enough."A ripple disturbed the river’s surface. Daniel’s gaze snapped to it. A shadow moved beneath the water, slow and deliberate. Something was waiting there. Watching."You have a choice," Lena said.Daniel turned back to her. "A choice?"She reached out, her fingers grazing his. A sudden flood of memories rushed through him—laughter, warmth, the feel of her lips against his. And then the pain. The emptiness. The guilt that had hollowed him out long before the knife had found him."You can let go," Lena whispered. "Come with me."The water lapped at his toes, and for a moment, the pull was almost comforting. Easy. But somewhere in the distance, faint and fading, he thought he heard something else. A voice. Calling his name.Someone was waiting for him.Someone still alive.He clenched his fists, resisting the river’s pull. "I don't think I’m ready."Lena’s expression didn't change, but something in her eyes shifted. A flicker of something almost like relief."Then go," she said softly. "But don’t waste it this time."The river surged. The darkness cracked.And Daniel woke up to blinding white light, the beeping of machines, and the dull ache of stitches holding him together.He was still here.But the lost part of his soul?That would take time to find again.---

The Lost SoulThe rain fell in thick sheets, drenching the empty streets as if the sky itself mourned. Daniel staggered forward, his breath ragged, his body aching. His hands, slick with something warm and wet, trembled as he looked down. Blood. His own? Someone else's? He couldn't remember. His mind was a blur of shattered memories, echoes of pain, and a suffocating sense of loss.Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. He turned into an alley, pressing himself against the cold bricks, his heart pounding like a dying drum. He tried to think, to piece together how he'd gotten here, but the only thing clear was the weight in his chest—the kind of weight that crushed a man’s soul long before death came for his body.Then he saw her.A figure standing at the alley’s mouth. Not a cop. Not a stranger. Someone he knew. Someone he had loved.“Lena?” His voice cracked, barely audible over the rain.She stepped forward, her face pale, her eyes hollow. The same eyes that used to light up when she laughed. The same lips that once whispered secrets in the dark. Now, she was a ghost in the flesh.“You left me,” she said, her voice soft but accusing.Daniel felt his legs go weak. “I didn’t—”But he had.He left her that night. He slammed the door. He drove off, drunk on anger and cheap whiskey. He ignored the calls. Ignored the messages. And by the time he stumbled back home, she was gone. Not just from the apartment. Not just from his life.From existence.They found her body in the river a week later. Suicide, they said. But Daniel knew the truth—he had killed her in a different way. He had killed her when he walked away.And now, she was here.His breath hitched as Lena moved closer. Her wet hair clung to her face, her dress stained dark with river water. She reached for him, her fingers grazing his wrist, and suddenly, the pain in his side flared, sharp and unbearable. He gasped, looking down.A deep gash in his stomach.He remembered now. The bar fight. The knife. The way his body folded as the blade sank in. The warmth of his own life spilling out into the street.His vision blurred. The alley stretched, twisted. Lena's face filled his world, her expression unreadable."Come with me," she whispered.Daniel exhaled one final breath. The rain slowed. The sirens faded. And as the world went dark, all he saw was her outstretched hand, waiting to lead him where lost souls go.

Lover’s WoundShe pressed her hands against the ache,but love is a wound that never mends.A whisper carved into the bone,a ghost that lingers in the marrow.He left like the tide—slow at first, then all at once,pulling warmth from the shore of her skin,leaving only salt and silence.She stitches her ribs with longing,threads her breath through empty spaces,but the echoes still hum his name,soft, relentless, unforgiving.Love does not break,it bruises in colors unseen,fades, then flares—a quiet wound that never bleeds.

The WomanShe is the storm and the stillness,the quiet before and the wreckage after.Soft hands that have held the world together,fingers calloused from carrying its weight.She speaks in lullabies and war cries,her voice a thread that mends and unravels.A wildfire in her veins,a river carved through time.She has been loved, she has been left,she has broken and built herself anew.Not once, not twice—but every time the world forgot her name.She is not waiting to be saved.She is the hero, the villain, the legend—the woman who rises, again and again.

Roots and ChainsI was born in dirt and dust,carved from pain, baptized in rust.Roots like hands, they grip, they choke,pulling whispers through the smoke.Bloodline cursed, a tethered fate,sins I never chose still wait.I run, I fight, but still they call,ghosts that drag me when I fall.Chains so heavy, veins run cold,stories written, never told.Every link's a name, a scar,weights that keep me where they are.Roots and chains—no love, just pain,history screaming in my veins.Cut them loose or let them stay?Either way, I rot or fray.

WistfulA shadow falls where dreams once danced,A whispered wish, a fleeting glance.In quiet moments, memories swell,Like tides that rise and secrets tell.The world spins on, both bright and wild,Yet in the heart, it stays a child,Longing for what can’t be found,Chasing echoes without sound.The stars above, so far away,Reflect the dreams we used to say.Fingers grasp at fading light,As if to hold what slips from sight.The heart may ache with what’s not here,A silent song, a distant cheer.For all that's lost, the mind still yearns,In every corner, hope returns.Yet wistful winds may carry hope,And teach the soul to gently cope.For dreams may fade, but still, they fly—A tender wish against the sky.

RatchetI ain't polished, ain't prim, ain't playing pretend,Got a crown on my head, but it tilts in the wind.Gold hoops swinging, nails long, colors loud,Mouth full of truth, and I say it real proud.They call it ratchet, I call it free,Unapologetic, just being me.Too bold, too raw, too much to take,But I ain't dimming down—nah, that's a mistake.A little bit hood, a little bit wise,Flipping the script, fire in my eyes.Dance when I wanna, laugh too loud,Move like a queen, stand tall in a crowd.Judge if you want, but I know my worth,Been through the struggle, came out rebirthed.So keep your pearls, your tight-lipped ways,I'm ratchet, I'm real, and I'm here to stay.

SavageHeart like a lion, soul made of steel,Been through the fire, but I’m still here to kill.They whisper my name, but they don’t understand,I built my own throne with these bare, calloused hands.Came from the trenches, learned how to fight,Took all my losses and turned ‘em to might.No silver spoon, no easy way out,Just hunger and hustle, no room for self-doubt.They call me savage ‘cause I don’t break,Won’t fold, won’t beg, won’t move like a fake.Loyal to few, but I walk alone,‘Cause power feels better when it’s all your own.So keep your shade, your soft little lies,I see through it all with these war-torn eyes.I’m savage, I’m lethal, I’m built to survive,You pray for mercy—I pray to thrive.

I'm Here to SlayWalk in the room, all eyes on me,Confidence drippin’, style so free.Head held high, I don’t hesitate,Queens don’t wait—we dominate.They whisper, they stare, but I don’t mind,I was built to shine, one of a kind.No need to flex, my aura speaks,Power in my presence, game on fleek.Came from the struggle, rose from the pain,Turned all the losses into my gain.They doubted, they laughed, but look at me now,Sitting on top, won’t ever bow.I walk with purpose, I talk with fire,A force of nature, taking it higher.So step aside or come my way,Either way, just know—I’m here to slay.

Blue BloodsBeneath the royal sky they stand,Bloodlines traced by ancient hand,A whisper of the past in their stride,Blue bloods walking with grace and pride.Through centuries of silent reign,Their names etched in an endless chain,In shadows deep, their power grows,A lineage that no one knows.Their veins run with the stories old,Of battles fought, of secrets bold,The weight of crowns, the weight of time,In every pulse, a silent rhyme.But in their eyes, the question lies,What price for power, what cost for skies?For blood so blue may seem divine,But even kings must cross the line.In twilight’s glow, they search for peace,Where power’s hunger might finally cease,For even the blue bloods, proud and tall,Must learn to rise, and then let fall.

Wrecked MachineBolts are loose, the gears won’t turn,metal twisted, circuits burned.Once a force, now torn apart,wired wrong, a broken heart.Smoke still lingers, sparks still bite,echoes hum in dying light.Every dent, a story told,of hands that used, of love grown cold.Built to last but left to rust,stripped of purpose, drained of trust.A wrecked machine, too gone to mend,waiting for the end again.

Carry MeCarry me through skies of gold,Where dreams are born and tales are told,Beyond the reach of time and fear,Where whispers fade, and hearts draw near.Let winds of kindness lift my soul,As rivers deep and oceans roll,Guide me through the dark unknown,To places where the light has grown.When burdens weigh, and shadows call,When hope seems lost, and I may fall,Carry me on wings of grace,To find my strength, to find my place.Through storms and fire, through nights so long,Carry me with your silent song,That I may rise, that I may see,The endless love that sets me free.In every step, in every sigh,Carry me until I fly,And when the road feels far and wide,Carry me, and stay by my side

King’s ManSteel sings, red drips, silence hums.A vow is carved where mercy numbs.The king commands, I heed, I go—Through fire, through death, through bloodied snow.No name, no face, no soul to keep,A blade that wakes while others sleep.The crown is heavy, but mine is light—A shadow sworn to end the fight.A whispered breath, a fleeting spark,A kingdom built on deeds kept dark.Glory fades, but ghosts remain—The king still lives, yet I am slain.---

TemptationsGolden whispers, poisoned lips,fingertips on sinking ships.Shadows dance in candlelight,pulling me into the night.Silk and fire, chains and lace,danger wears a pretty face.A taste, a touch, a stolen breath,a slow embrace that flirts with death.I know the cost, I’ve heard the cries,seen the truth behind the lies.Yet still, I step, yet still, I crave—temptation calls, and I obey.

SilencedBeneath the crimson sky, it bleeds,Silent whispers fuel the needs.A blade, a cry, a shattered heart,In the dark, we fall apart.Eyes wide shut, the soul is still,Gutted by a mindless thrill.The air is thick with fear and rot,In shadows, every thought’s forgot.The moon won't speak, the stars won’t shine,All that’s left is broken time.A hollow scream, a twisted grin,Is it the end or just the spin?In the quiet, blood runs cold,A thousand tales are left untold.The darkness knows, but dares not show,Who’s alive and who’s below.

Deadly WatersBlack tide sways, calling deep,A silent vow the lost must keep.Cold hands rise from beneath,Whispers slither through clenched teeth.Moonlight shatters on the wave,Marking where the damned behave.Step too close, the current knows,Pulling secrets down below.No screams, no trace, just hollow blue,Drowned in echoes no one knew.The water waits, the water feeds—A grave that never needs a creed.---

The SabotageIn the quiet clockwork of our days,Lurks a silent hand that rearranges fate—A whisper of dissonance in the haze,A fracture hidden behind a smiling gate.It strikes in moments when our hope is high,Planting seeds of doubt within fertile ground;A covert thief under a placid sky,Where dreams and whispered fears are tightly bound.Each promise built with care may subtly crumble,As inner saboteurs reclaim their might;In fragile hearts, the barricades may tumble,Turning dawn's embrace to shadowed night.Yet in this art of ruin lies a spark—A chance to forge new paths from broken schemes;For from the ruins of the old and stark,We build our towers from the shards of dreams.Embrace the sabotage as part of growth,A tempest shaping who we're meant to be;Within the chaos, find a quiet oath—To rise, rebuild, and set our spirit free.

Titanic is SelfA vast horizon lies within my soul,A sea of depth and tempest, wild and grand;In every tide, a story to be told,A secret force that whispers, "I am grand."Colossal waves of doubt and hope collide,Carving canyons through the heart’s resilient clay;I stand a monument to all inside,A ship unsinkable, come night or day.Each crest, a triumph; every trough, a scar,Reflects the self—a universe so wide,In every storm, I learn just who we are,A titan rising from the shifting tide.For in this boundless ocean of the mind,I find the strength to face each fear and strife—An endless voyage, ever redefined,Titanic in essence: vast, the self, and life.

Rough DiamondsBeneath the weight of everyday stone,In the cracks of a weathered life’s terrain,There lie treasures not yet fully known—Rough diamonds born of struggle and pain.Forged in the depths where pressure endures,They glisten with an untamed, raw light;Each facet a tale, imperfect yet pure,A beacon emerging from the endless night.Unpolished, they tell of battles fought,Of resilience etched in every scar;In their irregular form, beauty is wrought—A reminder that strength shines where we are.So hold fast to these fragments of grace,Even when life seems barren and gray;For within every rough diamond’s embraceLies the promise of brilliance, waiting to play.

Suicide on a MissionI set out on a path where shadows reign,A secret quest in the silent night—Each step a whisper of unspoken pain,A mission etched in darkness, void of light.I tread the edge where hope seems to depart,Where every heartbeat echoes deep despair;Yet amid the void, a distant, fragile sparkReminds me that a choice still lingers there.This mission, born of anguish and of loss,Could be the end—a final, quiet fall;But in the struggle, where I'm torn across,A seed of yearning whispers: "Answer the call."Not every step toward the abyss must beA march to silence, an irreversible end;Within the storm, perhaps you'll chance to seeThat every ending offers room to mend.If you find yourself adrift on darker seas,Please know you’re not alone in all your pain.Reach out—let someone share your silent pleas,For even in the night, there shines hope’s refrain.If you’re struggling or feeling unsafe, please consider reaching out to someone you trust or contact a crisis support service. In the United States, call 988 or 911; in other countries, please refer to your local emergency services or helplines.

Crisis in the Democratic Republic of the Congo: What’s Happening in Goma?The Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) is once again facing a severe humanitarian and security crisis, particularly in the eastern city of Goma. The ongoing conflict, primarily driven by the Rwanda-backed M23 rebel group, has led to mass casualties, displacement, and fears of a broader regional conflict.M23 Rebels Seize Goma Amid Escalating ViolenceAccording to Reuters, the recent offensive by M23 has resulted in over 900 deaths and nearly 3,000 injuries, with thousands of bodies still awaiting burial. The rebel group has now taken control of Goma, intensifying an already dire humanitarian situation.Rebels Declare Ceasefire, But Tensions RemainDespite declaring a unilateral ceasefire for humanitarian reasons, reports indicate that sporadic fighting and looting continue in the area (The Times). The ceasefire announcement has been met with skepticism, as similar truces in the past have not held for long.UN Condemnation and Humanitarian CrisisThe United Nations has strongly condemned the invasion, emphasizing that “one member state invading another cannot be tolerated.” Vivian van de Perre, the deputy head of the UN stabilization mission in the DRC (MONUSCO), highlighted the critical lack of water, electricity, and basic services in Goma. She also warned of 4,000 escaped prisoners, many of whom had committed violent crimes (El País).Regional Tensions and Rwanda’s RoleThe DRC government has accused Rwanda of backing M23, a claim supported by several intelligence reports. Rwanda, however, denies involvement. The situation has led to growing international pressure on Kigali, with some countries considering sanctions.What Happens Next?With no clear resolution in sight, international organizations continue to push for diplomatic negotiations to prevent further escalation. Meanwhile, thousands of Congolese civilians are fleeing to neighboring countries in search of safety.For a deeper dive into the crisis, check out this video:Rebels declare ceasefire in DR Congo for 'humanitarian reasons'

The Calling – Part 4Anele returned home that night, but everything felt different. The walls of her small room, once familiar, now seemed to hum with an unseen presence. The candlelight flickered in strange patterns, casting shadows that felt alive.She sat on the floor, the clay figure still warm in her hands. The old fear crept in—the fear of being different, of stepping into a path she couldn’t fully understand. But deep within, another feeling had taken root: certainty.The next morning, she found Gogo Thandi waiting outside, seated on a woven mat, grinding herbs with a stone. The scent of burning impepho filled the air.“Today, we begin your training,” Gogo Thandi said without looking up.Anele sat beside her, heart pounding. “Training for what?”“To become what you were always meant to be,” the old woman said, handing her a bowl of ground herbs. “You have been called as a healer.”Anele’s breath caught in her throat. A healer. A sangoma.She had always admired those who carried the gift, who walked between worlds, but she had never imagined she was one of them.“How do you know?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.Gogo Thandi chuckled. “Because the ancestors do not waste time. You heard them, felt them. And now, you must learn to serve them.”Anele felt a weight settle on her shoulders—heavy but not burdensome. It was the weight of responsibility, of destiny.For weeks, she trained under Gogo Thandi’s watchful eye. She learned the meanings behind dreams, the songs that called the spirits, the rhythms of the drum that opened pathways between worlds. She spent hours in the river, learning to listen, to read the movements of the water, to understand the messages hidden in the ripples.But it wasn’t just learning—it was remembering. Every lesson felt like something she had known before, buried deep in her bones.Then came the test.One evening, Gogo Thandi handed Anele a white cloth and a bundle of herbs. “Tomorrow, you will go alone to the sacred mountain. There, you will ask the ancestors for your name.”Anele shivered. Her name? The one given by her parents had always felt incomplete, as if it belonged to only a part of her.At sunrise, she set out, walking barefoot over the dry earth, the wind whispering around her. The journey was long, the path steep, but she didn’t stop.At the mountain’s peak, she knelt, laid out the herbs, and closed her eyes.“I am here,” she whispered, just as she had at the river. “What is my name?”The wind stilled. The earth beneath her hummed. Then, a voice—clear as day, deep as the ocean—spoke.And when Anele opened her eyes, she was no longer the woman who had begun the journey.She had been named.She had been claimed.And now, her true work would begin.

The Calling – Part 3Anele knelt in the water, her body trembling, not from fear but from the sheer force of memory crashing into her. Visions came in waves—distant echoes of songs sung around sacred fires, the rhythmic pounding of drums, the feeling of her feet moving in dances she had never learned but somehow knew.She opened her eyes, and the river seemed different. The water shimmered with an otherworldly glow, as if reflecting a reality unseen by most. The clay figure in her hand warmed, vibrating softly.“What must I do?” she asked.The voice, deep and resonant, answered, “Accept.”Anele took a shaky breath. “Accept what?”“The truth of who you are.”The water around her stilled, as if holding its breath.For so long, she had resisted. She had tried to fit into the world’s mold, to silence the callings in her dreams, to explain away the whispers in the wind. But here, in the embrace of the river, there was no more running.She pressed the clay figure to her chest, its warmth spreading through her like fire. A deep pulse echoed in her bones, in her soul.And then she spoke. Not in the language she had been taught, but in the tongue of the old ones—the words flowing effortlessly, powerfully, as if they had been waiting for her lips to remember them.As she chanted, the wind picked up, the trees swayed, and the river swirled around her feet. She felt something lift from her, a weight she hadn’t even realized she carried.When she finally fell silent, a new stillness settled over the land. Not empty, but full—charged with a presence she could feel in her very marrow.“You are ready,” the voice whispered, softer now.Anele turned to leave the river, feeling as though she had been stripped bare and rebuilt anew. As she stepped onto the shore, she saw Gogo Thandi standing there, a knowing smile on her face.“You heard them,” the old woman said simply.Anele nodded.Gogo Thandi reached out, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Then it is time to begin.”Anele didn’t know exactly what lay ahead. But for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid.She was home. She was ready.She was awake.

The Calling – Part 2The days after the ritual felt lighter, yet heavier. Anele could sense things she hadn’t before—the subtle weight of unseen eyes watching over her, the hum of energy beneath her feet, the way the wind whispered names she didn’t recognize.She started dreaming more vividly. Some nights, she found herself walking through rivers, the water parting around her as voices called her name. Other nights, she sat in circles of women draped in cloths of deep indigo, their hands raised as they chanted words that vibrated through her bones.One morning, Gogo Thandi handed her a bundle wrapped in red cloth.“It is time,” the old woman said.Anele hesitated before unwrapping it. Inside lay a small calabash filled with herbs, a white beaded bracelet, and a tiny clay figure—its face eerily similar to hers.“You must go to the river,” Gogo Thandi continued. “Alone. Speak to them.”Anele swallowed hard. She had always feared deep waters, yet she knew this was not a request but a path she could not avoid.That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she made her way to the riverbank. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something ancient. She removed her shoes, stepped into the cool water, and closed her eyes.“I am here,” she whispered.The wind shifted. The water rippled.Then she heard it—a deep, resonant voice, neither male nor female, yet both.“We have been waiting.”Anele's body trembled, but she did not run.“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the rushing water.Silence. Then, a feeling—a wave of warmth, of knowing, of remembrance.“You already know,” the voice said.And suddenly, she did.Flashes of past lives, of ceremonies, of ancient hands pressing white clay onto her skin. She had done this before, in lifetimes forgotten.Tears slipped down her cheeks.She had spent her whole life searching for herself, only to realize she had never truly been lost.She had simply been waiting to remember...

Title: The CallingAnele had always felt a pull toward something greater, something unseen yet deeply felt. She grew up hearing whispers from her grandmother about the old ways—about how their ancestors spoke through dreams, how the wind carried messages, and how the rivers held secrets of those who came before.But modern life had drowned those whispers. Bills, work, and the constant noise of survival had pushed the old ways to the background. She prayed, she meditated, but something always felt incomplete. Until the night of the dream.She was standing in a vast field, the earth damp beneath her feet. Before her stood a towering baobab tree, its thick roots twisting like the veins of the land. A figure emerged from its shadow—an old woman draped in white, her face hidden beneath a beaded veil.“Anele,” the woman called, her voice both distant and near. “You are being called home.”Anele felt her heart tighten. “Home? But I am home.”The woman shook her head. “Not here. You have forgotten who you are. It is time.”A sudden wind howled, and Anele felt herself sinking into the earth, into darkness. When she woke, she was drenched in sweat, her chest rising and falling as if she had run for miles.The following days were strange. Birds landed too close, their eyes holding an unsettling intelligence. Strangers greeted her with knowing smiles. The air smelled different, richer. She started seeing patterns—on walls, on leaves, in the sky—symbols she didn’t recognize but felt deep in her bones.Finally, unable to ignore the signs, she visited her grandmother’s sister, Gogo Thandi, the last one in the family who still practiced the old ways. As soon as Anele stepped through the door, Gogo Thandi nodded.“They have been waiting for you,” she said simply.Tears welled in Anele’s eyes. She didn’t need to ask who “they” were. She already knew.That day, under the flickering light of a single candle, Gogo Thandi performed a small ritual, calling on the ancestors. As the flames danced, Anele felt it—an opening, a shift. A warmth spread through her chest, filling the empty space she had carried for years.She was home. Not in a place, but in a knowing.And from that moment on, she was never the same.....

UnsustainedMy hearts unwilling to pump more blood. My mind won't rest, thoughts continue to flood. Why won't my sorrows fade? Even in the darkest of hour no sign of solace and deeper into my woes I go. So deeper into the wolves I'm thrown Too close to the sun I've flown. Icarus continues to fall. There I go losing it all. Thought the son died but above the water he still walks. Now to the keeper of souls I wish to talk. Followed by the grim reeper Bodies dropping every second like it's jeepers creepers Now to the angel of the death oh! Won't you please hear my plea! How did I gain the whole world and not have everything later stripped? May I harvest fruitful seeds. Not devilish beings, may the flowers never wither thus fading the green.

Writings on the wall so bold and sharp like the past that haunts me. Too many hands i've been dealt with that broke me'. Body laid like an atlas all inked ,routes and bruises like a well that never runs dry. Too many memories taunt me if only my mind could go blind. I need no reminders but the past like a ghost rider keeps dragging me back to hell. the writings on the wall so properly exclamated just reek judgment and discrimination ,in my reflection i see nothing but filth and the ink continues to extend on my wounded body , disgust has never been so loud. #mywritings#poetry

Thank God for the music that raised me I could never stay motivated I was forever aggravated, always stressed thoughts crowding me I swear my mind felt like it was litigated My hope forever lacking ,my soul torn , heart weeping ,faith was no where to be seen and never elevated My self image constantly dropping like Mzansi's currency , could never even trust my own reflection cause damn I grew always belittled by friends and family not to mention discriminated against . People around me were always pretentious , the hate was too loud, some loved me from afar and at a distance/in the shadows . I could have easily replaced my heart with a spade and went cold But how could I ever let that even be an option I refuse to lett anyone or anything phase me Could never let anybody have that much power over me To the point where they influence my change from drastic to little That's why I grind so hard could never let a man get the chance to scream that he made me Dayeeeeeeem the goal is to be miss independent before I am a Mrs But to be honest being a wife has never been on my wish list Because when we counting achievements marriage ain't none of them For me marriage is just a disaster waiting to happen Because it could either be the beginning of a nightmare or your doom But either way you are still screwed So I don't want anybody sweeping me off my feet because for a second or two I would love to be the broom

She was a blossoming flower until she withered too earlyAbandoned by her mama never new her papa.Her life was all but a sad storyAlthough unlike the rest she never sang any sob storiesOh but her face expressed all her griefHer eyes told the story her lips wouldn't dare sayAlthough invisible she was so she went unnoticedOrphaned little thing was having a time of her lifeUntil she wasn't.Now usually when an offspring lays eyes on its birth giver you would think everything would be all merry but, noWords were exchanged, doors were bangedSteps were taken but no where near each otherDriven by her rage vision now suddenly blurred, broomed off her feet with none to catch her but the groundAs unconsciously she laidShe was triggered and trauma houndedSubliminally and subconsciously astoundedTo a point of a near heart attack experienceShe was journaling and fixatingTrying by all means to obey her consciences dictatingAll the anger consuming her, has her out of control and just spiralling Biding on one'self has never been such a gambleShe was a sunflower now turned into a brambleShe was the type of bag you had and needed but fumbled it A gift handled with haste instead of grace A journey at rest Time was found shaking because what happened to pace? Stagnant little thing pushed to the limit, exhausted to the gutter therefore needed space Circumstances had her looking like she's from the Walking Dead I would have sworn she was in a drug haze Heart forever pulsating her brain acting like it's been set ablazeBy A,. Zoya

Here I lay in my self designated grave Hope so far fetched it seemed My tears so colourfully laid upon my face On my lips they swooped in with a bittersweet taste As I let out a sigh A couple of deep breaths it took felt like deep strokes I was choking In my tears I was soaking My palm itching it can only mean blessing but let the old skin shed first I'm a wounded soul but no sign of an outburst Classy I know But why do I feel so heavy? Everything sweaty, eyes all teary Skin swollen, scars on I never bargained for permanent marks And here lies the *bridge I said I would cross when I got to it* Although I can't seem to bury the hatchet As the past and it's burdens refuse to be swept under the carpet Talk about resilience and persistence (Wish my lovers carried the same traits) But oh well atleast something gets to flow under the bridge but like tides they keep rising and getting stronger "spill the tea already" the silence has been way longer... than I anticipated or not My perception couldn't have been wronger So there I stood on the alter of my own fair well as I plead with my dear heart Unshackle these cuffs Shake and break my fear Tackle these conundrums As I lay on a stack of my own lies Far away from home but I swear I heard something move from my dad as I let out a silent cry What kind of ties do I really share with the one that conceived me? That she can never see let alone feel my pain But then again I've been told I carry it so well Although I wish I didn't have to carry it at all... Felt like jesus as I was crucified... Left right left where do I turn? To whom do I turn? Do I leap? do I cross? but every body been crossing me. They said I'm too kind They surely know not of me I'm a snake that bites it's own tail. By A. Zoya

Victim or survivor? so they ask Although how am I survivor? when I'm still haunted on a daily? As I answered yes! I'm a victim yet some how I'm the one criminalised As if I asked to be invaded the way I'm bullied and scrutinized Victimized without choice but if it were up to me I wouldn't even want to be categorised as a survivor I would have just preferred to just live but no I'm just a living but dead inside corpse ,manier eyes would think me a survivor although I'm nothing but a victim The arousal and wetness pulled out by the touches and the plunches so addictive It's like thoughts of a lover that's broken your heart lingering on your mind Like the oppressors hand over your land, very vindictive Hormones and emotions doing God knows what but oh so very aggressive My mind and body oppressed I feel like a caged bird in my own body Too many Someone's always on my apple thats not of their eyes but always pressed on , pressed against Like yes stack on , pack on your weight unto me invade my land , segregated my gates are... My likely to be nemesis has entered Body shuts down , mouth silenced as I scream from within if only this was an app just so I can jump on the settings just to edit , delete or atleast filter Foreign voices speak to me as though I don't comprehend They just don't understand the depth of an invisible wound it never stops bleeding Now everywhere I walk it's like vultures are forever preying on me Feels like I'm forever cat-walking into the lions den Oh what has become of me? My confidence no where to be see I just I feel naked and ashamed No hall of fame but notorious here I stand , walking in the hall more like a tunnel of shame I can hear a little voice in me mumble "don't you know it's rude to stare" Don't pry , stop! Unhand me , unbrand me I wanna scream wait no I wanna tear them from limb to limb , my blood boils I can feel something of a turmoil had begotten me Oh fear the embrace of feeling too small It's similar to a fall of grace better yet the apple not too far from the tree . Oh yes i sucked cowardness right from birth before I was ,was lost and abandoned from my should have been mother's breasts By A . Zoya

In My body is no temple but a ghost town it's as invaded as can be Haunted by unhanded touches , clutches memories that knock me down like a thousand punches at a go . Nightmares have at me every second I close my eyes Rose patel's laid and dripping from Adams Apple Nothing of me feels sacred or private when every where my body bruised and cut is scattered on every wall and everywhere like a billboard with a Bieber face Every lad wanna touch , wanna see , wanna smell as if I were fresh notes with a Diba face It's all suit and ties ugly faces , disgusting perverted minds covered by money and power . And it's hush hush for me for I'm just shameless ,my only job is to sit still and look pretty . Told not to be opinionated only just good enough to be slain in bed Well after all I live in a man's world .they said "be a good girl " when the only choice I had was a packet of condoms For I'm nothing but a slave of patriarchy "Doll up , cheer up " they said I tried to fight and protect what was left of my disgusting self but every predator was already in ,yes I'm Trapped in Noah's ark Might as well jump off and swim with the sharks but it's all teeth , scavenger hunt I presume or am I just a different version of little red riding hood ? Every morning of every night I'm choking on semon . Every afternoon I'm fighting my demons Trying to be a good girl for daddy ... Due to the fear of being loose but what's there to shut when my house has been crushed or better yet burnt to the ground ? Thank God no seed was planted in my garden otherwise what would become of my invaded body? By A.Zoya ( Awonke Zoya)