Follow your heart
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When the storm subsides and silence remains,
The world is brighter for the cleansing rains.
And in the stillness, the soul may see,
The beauty that comes from simplicity.
IT IS EASY AND SIMPLE TO BE FREE
“After my first television job, I stood on the roof of the studio, gazing at the stars. The breeze whispered freedom, but I wondered: was it truly easy to feel free? In that moment, I learned freedom demands more than wings—it demands wisdom, courage, and the strength to be wholly yourself in a world that never stops watching.”
It is easy and simple to be free,
But only if your soul agrees —
To walk a path that few have known,
And claim as yours a life your own.
In the dazzling glow of the studio’s light,
I performed my part, I fought the fight.
To be wise, so my eyes could speak,
To be clever, quick with words unique.
But beneath the script, behind the scene,
A quieter truth lay, unforeseen:
To be strong meant more than to endure,
It meant to hold my essence pure.
For in this world of fleeting frames,
Where every step calls forth acclaim,
It’s easy to lose what makes you whole,
To trade applause for your very soul.
Freedom asks for more than flight,
More than dreams beneath the night.
It asks for wisdom, so your heart can lead,
And strength to rise when the world impedes.
To react, to reply, in clever command,
To steady yourself when you barely can stand.
To gather the chaos, the noise, the pain,
And funnel it all through heart, mind, and brain.
It is freedom to smile when the cameras roll,
To balance the weight of a scripted role.
But greater still is the quiet art,
Of staying true to a tender heart.
The lights may fade, the applause subside,
But freedom is found on the soul’s inside.
It is not the fame, the roar, the glare,
But the strength to know yourself out there.
To soar alone where dreams take flight,
To harness the stars that pierce the night,
To hold your ground, through storms that reign,
And transform the struggle into gain.
For freedom is not the wind’s embrace,
Nor the fleeting charm of a familiar face.
It’s the wisdom to see, the strength to know,
That to truly be free, you must let yourself grow.
So let the stars be your silent guide,
Let the truth within you coincide.
For freedom is not just to flee—
It is to stand, unbroken, and simply be.
VINTAGE TEARS RUN DOWN THE WALLS
“There is a solemnity in decay, where time itself breathes heavier than silence, and every crack whispers secrets of the past. In Venice, I found a room that seemed to listen to its own sorrow.”
In the depth of a Venetian night,
Beneath the moon’s uncertain light,
A woman stands where shadows fall,
Her voice caught in an ancient hall.
The walls, adorned with vintage tears,
Bear witness to forgotten years.
Each faded fresco, each fractured stone,
Holds whispers of lives once brightly known.
Beneath the dust of chandeliers,
The room still aches with long-lost fears.
Velvet drapes in tatters cling,
Like ghosts that mourn but cannot sing.
She stands, a figure carved from strength,
Her voice stretched out to its full length.
“Listen,” she cries, “to the echo within,
For silence itself holds where dreams begin.”
A lace gown, crumpled on the floor,
Speaks of nights when love implored,
Yet now, its threads are bare and thin,