The First Times

There is something sacred in first times.

The act of courage

When you don’t know

What lies beyond the line.

The rush of adrenaline,

The hush that follows,

Those trembling hearts,

The wounds and scars.

But there is something sacred in first times.

The fear that lingers

Long after the fall,

The moment that flickers

Like a dying glow.

That second you remember

You were never in control,

And faith was all you had to keep your soul.

But there is something sacred in first times.

And it will never come again.

No chance to have another first—

Everything else

Becomes second or third.

You’ll miss it or you’ll make it,

Either way, you held it…

And then it’s gone.

More Sacred

But we are destined to be unique,

Different paths, different seeds.

So who’s to say your purpose

Is more sacred than mine?

For all we know,

We are crossing borderlines.

You may speak louder,

Like thunder...

Enough to make the hearers tremble.

But I offer peace,

A calm in chaos,

A rest for the warriors.

If we all shared the same fate,

Then who would ever lead?

Who would ever heal?

So who’s to say your purpose

Is more sacred than mine?

For all we know,

We are drawing different lines.

Crossing Fingers

I crossed my fingers 

Yes, for luck.

A fragile superstition

Intertwined between doubts and desires.

As if fate could be persuaded

By the quiet folding of hands.

But love is a maze,

Meant for the braves.

It sketches its boundaries in shadows,

Thin as a breath, trembling like echoes.

There are lines meant to be kept,

For the heart to stay intact.

Still we cross them,

As if we are really lucky and brave.

Softly at first, like dusk slipping into the night,

Then going deeper where every warning flickers like a dying streetlight.

In there, the dark learns our names,

And every step hums haunted and forbidden games.

Then we tell ourselves 

That luck will follow,

That it will cradle our defiance,

And it will blur the edges of consequences.

Turning things into something

Almost merciful.

But luck is a fleeting companion,

And love remembers the lines we crossed.

When our fingers finally loosen,

And our hearts start to crumble.

That's when the illusion falls apart,

And we stand in the quiet aftermath.

Crossing fingers,

Crossing lines,

The music is ruined,

The moments gone.

And we realized that we did it

For one last time.