Poetry

The Hand That Reached Back
The path was already there, though I could not remember stepping onto it. It opened beneath my feet as if the world had been waiting for me to notice it. Grass leaned softly against my ankles, bright with the kind of green that looks impossible until it is right in front of you. The air was warm, but not heavy. Sunlight poured through the high leaves in broken streams, touching the ground in gold and then disappearing again beneath patches of shade. It was not a field, but it was open like one. It was not a forest, but it breathed like one. The place refused to be only one thing. It stretched wide enough to run and deep enough to get lost. It gave room to laugh, but kept secrets between the trees.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast5 months ago in Chapters
The Call of the Wild
I read The Call of the Wild during a week where I wasn’t really sleeping. Not the dramatic kind of insomnia you see in movies. Nothing poetic about it. Just lying awake at 2 a.m. with too many thoughts moving around in my chest like restless animals. The apartment felt too quiet. My phone felt loud even when it wasn’t ringing. And for some reason, I kept reaching for old books instead of new ones.
By John Smith5 months ago in Chapters
Producing Isn’t About Money - It’s About Decisions | Andreas Szakacs
Everyone thinks producing is about money — until one decision changes everything. As Andreas Szakacs explains, producing isn’t defined by budgets or financing. Those are just tools. The real work happens in the choices made behind the scenes — the ones that determine whether a film moves forward or quietly falls apart.
By Andreas szakacs5 months ago in Chapters
Iran’s “Mysterious Weapon” Warning as Trump Weighs New Attack
Iran’s “Mysterious Weapon” Warning as Trump Weighs New Attack Tensions between Iran and the United States are rising once again after Iranian officials claimed they possess a “mysterious weapon” capable of shocking America and its allies, while former U.S. President Donald Trump reportedly considers fresh military action against Tehran.
By Wings of Time 5 months ago in Chapters
Andreas Szakacs: Producing Isn’t About Money - It’s About Decisions
In today’s film and media landscape, producing is often reduced to budgets, financing, and numbers on a spreadsheet. But that definition misses the point.
By Andreas szakacs5 months ago in Chapters
HEATED Debate in US Congress Over Iran War
HEATED Debate in US Congress Over Iran War A fierce and emotional debate has erupted inside the United States Congress over America’s growing involvement in the Iran war. As the conflict enters another dangerous phase, lawmakers from both major political parties are deeply divided over whether the war is justified, how much it is costing, and who should have the authority to continue military operations.
By Wings of Time 5 months ago in Chapters
I Tried to Forget You, But I Couldn’t
I Tried to Forget You, But I Couldn’t BY: Ubaid The first time I decided to forget you, it was raining. Not the gentle kind of rain that whispers against the window, but the heavy kind—the kind that feels like the sky itself is breaking apart. I remember standing by the glass, watching droplets race each other down, thinking how easy it would be if memories could do the same—just slide away, disappear, and leave nothing behind. But memories don’t work like that. Not yours. You were everywhere. In the quiet pauses between songs. In the way the wind brushed past my face. In the smell of coffee that reminded me of those late evenings we spent talking about everything and nothing at the same time. I tried to erase you, to push you out of my mind like deleting a file, but you weren’t just a memory—you were a feeling. And feelings don’t delete easily. I told myself I was strong enough. I started with the small things. I stopped visiting the places we used to go. I avoided the park bench where we once sat for hours, laughing at things that probably weren’t even funny. I changed my playlist, removed every song that carried even a hint of you. I even forced myself to smile more, as if pretending to be okay would somehow make it true. But every attempt felt like trying to hold water in my hands. No matter how tightly I held on, it slipped through my fingers. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. People said time heals everything. I wanted to believe them. I really did. But time didn’t heal—it only taught me how to hide the pain better. I became good at it, too. I laughed at the right moments, said the right things, played the role everyone expected me to play. No one noticed the emptiness. Except me. Late at night, when the world grew quiet and distractions faded away, that’s when you came back the strongest. Not as a face I could see, but as a presence I could feel. It was in those moments I realized something I had been avoiding all along— I wasn’t trying to forget you. I was trying to forget how you made me feel. And that was the problem. Because it wasn’t just about you. It was about the version of me that existed when you were around. The happier version. The lighter version. The version that believed in things like forever and always. Losing you didn’t just mean losing someone I cared about. It meant losing a part of myself. I remember the day it truly hit me. I was walking down a crowded street, surrounded by people rushing to their destinations, when suddenly, everything felt… distant. Like I didn’t belong there. Like I was watching life happen instead of actually living it. And then, without warning, I heard someone laugh. It wasn’t you. It didn’t even sound like you. But it reminded me of you. And just like that, all the walls I had built came crashing down. I stopped in the middle of the street, overwhelmed by a wave of emotions I thought I had buried. That’s when I realized something I had been too afraid to admit— Forgetting you was never the answer. Because you weren’t just a mistake to erase or a chapter to skip. You were a part of my story. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rewrite that. So I stopped trying. Instead of running from the memories, I started facing them. I allowed myself to remember without guilt, without anger. I let the sadness come, but I didn’t let it consume me. Slowly, something changed. The memories didn’t hurt as much. They became softer, quieter—like echoes instead of storms. I began to understand that holding on didn’t mean I was stuck. It just meant I had loved deeply. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t something to be ashamed of. I still think about you sometimes. Not in the way I used to—not with that heavy ache in my chest, but with a quiet acceptance. You’re a memory now, not a wound. And maybe that’s what healing really looks like. Not forgetting. But remembering without breaking. I tried to forget you, but I couldn’t. And in the end, I realized… I didn’t need to.
By Ubaid 6 months ago in Chapters
Loving You Was My Biggest Mistake
Loving You Was My Biggest Mistake BY: Khan I used to think love was the purest thing in the world. I believed it could fix anything broken, heal any wound, and turn even the darkest days into something beautiful. But I was wrong. Loving you taught me that sometimes, love doesn’t save you; it slowly destroys you. I met you on an ordinary day, the kind of day people usually forget. But for me, it became unforgettable the moment you smiled. There was something in how you talked and listened that made me feel like I mattered in a world where I often felt invisible. You made me feel seen. That was enough for me to fall. At first, everything felt perfect. We talked for hours, shared secrets, and laughed at things no one else would understand. You became my safe place. I trusted you with parts of myself I had never shown anyone. I thought you were different. I thought you were the one person who would never hurt me. But slowly, things began to change. It started with small things. You would ignore my messages sometimes and then come back with excuses that I chose to believe. You stopped asking how I was doing. Conversations became shorter and colder. Still, I stayed. I told myself love requires patience. I told myself you were just going through something. Then came the doubts, the overthinking. I had sleepless nights wondering if I had done something wrong. I began to question myself more than I ever questioned you. That was my first mistake. You started treating me like I was optional. Like I was someone you could return to whenever it was convenient for you. And the worst part? I let you. I was afraid of losing you. I thought holding on to something painful was better than having nothing at all. I remember the day it really broke me. I saw you laughing with someone else the same way you used to laugh with me. The same smile, the same attention. It felt like everything we had was just replaceable. Like I was never special to you, just temporary. When I asked you about it, you didn’t even try to deny it. You just shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. That’s when I realized the truth. I wasn’t losing you. I had already lost you a long time ago. I was just too blind, too hopeful, too in love to see it. Loving you became exhausting. I was always the one trying, fixing, and holding everything together while you let it fall apart. I gave you everything I had—my time, my trust, my energy—and in return, I got confusion, silence, and pain. I kept asking myself why I wasn’t enough. Why you couldn’t love me the way I loved you. But the truth is, it was never about me. Some people don’t know how to love properly. Some people take advantage of those who love too deeply. I was both unlucky and naive. The hardest part wasn’t letting you go. It was letting go of the version of you I had created in my mind. The version who cared, who stayed, who loved me back. That person never really existed. And yet, I held on to that illusion for so long. When I finally walked away, it didn’t feel strong or brave. It felt empty. Like I had lost a part of myself. In loving you, I had forgotten who I was. But slowly, I started to rebuild. I began to understand that love should never make you feel small, insecure, or unwanted. Real love doesn’t confuse you or make you question your worth. It doesn’t hurt more than it heals. Looking back now, I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you completely. Maybe you were just never meant for me. Maybe we were a lesson, not a forever. But if there’s one thing I regret, it’s not loving you. It’s losing myself while doing it. Because loving you wasn’t just a mistake; it was my biggest one. And this time, I’ve learned my lesson.
By Khan 6 months ago in Chapters
The things never said
In a dynasty of killers, two names stood above the rest—Zhào Bàtiān and Lín Ruòyǐng, generals whose cruelty was spoken of in lowered voices. Beyond the borders of China, their names travelled like a warning. To imagine them face to face was to imagine a blade at the neck—for they were serving to rival states Hán and Zhèng, bloodthirsty for each other, yet fated never to meet on the battlefield.
By Eiman Asif6 months ago in Chapters
The Girl Who Waited at Platform 3. AI-Generated.
y evening, Aarav first saw Meera. She was standing under the flickering yellow light of Platform 3, holding a book close to her chest, trying to protect it from the rain. Her hair was slightly wet, her eyes lost somewhere between the tracks and the sky.
By Aman Ahirwar6 months ago in Chapters
“Last Seen Online” – A Silent Story of Digital Love. AI-Generated.
Riya never believed in online love. To her, the digital world was just a place for scrolling through pictures, watching random videos, and occasionally chatting with friends. Feelings, she thought, belonged in the real world—not behind screens.
By Sushant Halder6 months ago in Chapters
The Last Train Home. AI-Generated.
Rohan had always believed in control. Control over his time, his career, his emotions—everything. As a corporate analyst in Kolkata, his life ran like clockwork. Wake up at 6:30, coffee at 6:45, office by 9, spreadsheets till evening, dinner, sleep, repeat.
By Manish Singh6 months ago in Chapters