Capturing the Politics and Poetics of Everyday Life....

Before we called it love, before we named it anger, it was only a tremor in the chest — wild, wordless, alive. This poem is about what happens when language touches emotion — and what it quietly takes away. Emotions— deep, fresh, and tender like green shoots breaking through rain-soaked soil— arrive without grammar. They rise quietly, carrying the scent of earth, the tremble of first light, the fragile insistence of becoming. But language waits. It waits with its sharp tools— definitions, categories, conclusions. It gathers these wild stirrings into its boiling cauldrons, heats them, thickens them, pours them into shapes the world knows how to store. “Love.” “Anger.” “Jealousy.” “Desire.” Neat words. Solid containers. And something raw begins to disappear. The tremor before love becomes a declaration. The ache before grief becomes a statement. The unnamed hunger before desire becomes confession. Language smoothens the rough edges, trims the unruly corners, ...

Before emojis, words had shadows. They hesitated, lingered, trembled. This piece is a small elegy for the meanings we lost in the glow of perfect reactions. In a world crowded with language yet strangely emptied of listening, we scatter smileys— small yellow suns pressed onto the sky of every sentence. They glow. They perform. They promise clarity. And in their polished brightness something softer begins to disappear. Between two curved lines of a grin whole forests fall silent— the tremor in a voice, the ache hidden in a pause, the fragile hesitation before saying I miss you . Smileys do not tremble. They do not falter. They never carry the weight of a word that almost breaks while leaving the mouth. Once, meaning moved like a gentle breeze— slipping between syllables, resting in commas, lingering in the hush after a full stop. Desire drifted like the fragrance of wild roses— unannounced, uncontained, waiting for someone patient enough to lean closer. ...