Poetry

When the World’s Oil Lifeline Was Threatened
The Strait Crisis: When the World’s Oil Lifeline Was Threatened In an increasingly interconnected world, few events can send shockwaves across continents within hours. One such moment emerged when tensions escalated around one of the most critical maritime chokepoints on Earth — the Strait of Hormuz. This narrow stretch of water, located between the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Oman, carries nearly one-fifth of the world’s oil supply. When uncertainty surrounds this vital corridor, the entire global economy begins to feel the pressure.
By Wings of Time 6 months ago in Chapters
I Still Remember the Way You Looked at Me
I Still Remember the Way You Looked at Me Some feelings were real… even if we never said them out loud. BY: Khan The first time I noticed the way you looked at me, it wasn’t dramatic. There was no slow motion, no background music, no sudden realization that something had changed. It was just a quiet moment in a crowded room—ordinary, almost forgettable. But somehow, it stayed. We were sitting across from each other at that small café we used to go to after classes. You were talking about something—I don’t even remember what—but I remember your eyes. They weren’t just looking at me. They were seeing me. Like you were trying to memorize something you didn’t want to lose. I laughed it off at the time. I always did. We became close without even realizing when it happened. Late-night calls, random texts, inside jokes no one else understood. You were the person I went to when things felt heavy, and somehow, you always made them lighter. But there was always something unspoken between us. Something in the way you paused before hanging up. Something in the way your voice softened when you said my name. Something in the way you looked at me—like I was more than just a friend. And maybe I knew. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it. Because admitting it would mean risking everything. And I wasn’t ready to lose you. So I stayed silent. Days turned into months, and months into something deeper—something neither of us dared to define. People around us started noticing. They’d tease us, ask questions, assume things. We always denied it. “It’s not like that.” But the truth was… it was like that. We just didn’t know what to do about it. Then came the night everything almost changed. We were walking back after dinner, the streets quiet, the city lights reflecting in puddles from the earlier rain. You stopped suddenly, and I turned to look at you. That look again. The same one from the café. But stronger this time. Clearer. “I need to tell you something,” you said. My heart started racing, but I forced myself to stay calm. “What is it?” You hesitated. Just for a second. But in that second, I saw everything—fear, hope, uncertainty. And then you smiled. “Never mind,” you said. “It’s not important.” But it was. I knew it was. And I let it go. That was the moment we lost something we never even had. After that night, things started to change. Slowly at first. You became distant, quieter. The calls became shorter. The messages less frequent. I told myself it was normal. People get busy. Life happens. But deep down, I knew. I knew something had shifted. And I had let it. Then one day, you told me you were leaving. It wasn’t sudden—you had been planning it for a while. A new city, a new job, a new life. You sounded excited, hopeful. I smiled and said I was happy for you. But inside, something broke. We met one last time before you left. The same café. The same table. But everything felt different. There was a distance between us now, something invisible but impossible to ignore. We talked about everything except what mattered. Until the silence grew too loud. “I’m going to miss this,” you said softly. “Me too,” I replied. And then it happened again. That look. But this time, it wasn’t just warmth or curiosity. It was something deeper. Something heavier. Something like goodbye. “I wish things were different,” you said. I wanted to ask what you meant. I wanted to say something—anything—to stop you from walking away with all the words we never said. But I didn’t. I just nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes this time. And just like that, it was over. You left. Days passed, then weeks. We still talked sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. Eventually, even that faded. And now, all I have are memories. Not the big ones. Not the dramatic moments or the almost-confessions. Just the small ones. The way you used to laugh at my terrible jokes. The way you always knew when something was wrong, even when I said I was fine. And most of all… The way you looked at me. I still think about it sometimes. Late at night, when everything is quiet, and there’s nothing to distract me. I wonder what would have happened if I had said something that night. If I had been brave enough to ask you to stay. If I had told you the truth. That I felt it too. That I was just as scared. That I didn’t want to lose you either. But some moments don’t come back. Some chances don’t repeat. And some people… they leave behind a look you never forget. I still remember the way you looked at me. And maybe that’s the hardest part. Because I know… No one has ever looked at me like that again.
By Khan 6 months ago in Chapters
You Left Without a Warning
You Left Without a Warning Some goodbyes don’t come with words—just silence that echoes forever. ‎BY: Ubaid I still remember the last normal day we had. It was one of those quiet evenings that didn’t feel special at the time—but somehow, it became unforgettable later. We sat across from each other, a small table between us, two cups of tea slowly losing their warmth. You were talking about something random, something I can’t even fully recall now… and yet, I remember the way your eyes softened when you smiled. That smile felt like home. If I had known that would be the last time I’d ever see you like that, I would have paid more attention. I would have memorized every detail—the way you held your cup, the way your voice lowered when you got tired, the way you looked at me like I mattered. But life doesn’t give warnings like that. The next day, you were gone. No message. No explanation. No goodbye. Just… silence. At first, I didn’t believe it. I thought maybe you were busy. Maybe your phone had died. Maybe something unexpected had come up. I tried calling you once… then again… and again. No answer. I sent a message: “Hey, where are you?” Minutes passed. Then hours. Still nothing. Another message: “Are you okay? I’m a little worried.” The longer you didn’t respond, the heavier my chest felt. My thoughts began to spiral into places I couldn’t control. I convinced myself something terrible had happened—because the truth felt too painful to accept. You wouldn’t just leave… right? By the second day, panic had turned into confusion. I checked your social media. You were gone there too—or maybe you had just made yourself invisible to me. That thought hit harder than anything else. Because it meant one thing: This wasn’t an accident. This was a choice. I spent days trying to understand why. Was it something I said? Something I did? Or maybe something I failed to do? I replayed every conversation in my mind, searching for a moment where things shifted—some hidden crack I didn’t notice at the time. But everything felt normal. You were happy. You were present. You stayed… until you didn’t. Time started moving in a strange way after that. The world didn’t stop—but it felt like mine did. Everywhere I went, there was a memory of you waiting for me. The café we loved. The songs you used to play. Even silence reminded me of you. Especially silence. Because that’s all you left behind. People told me to move on. “It happens,” they said. “Maybe they weren’t meant for you.” But those words didn’t help. Because how do you move on from something that never really ended? There was no closure. No final conversation. No explanation to hold onto. Just a story that stopped in the middle, leaving me to guess how it was supposed to end. And those unfinished endings… they stay with you. Weeks turned into months. At some point, I stopped calling. Not because I stopped caring—but because I finally understood something I had been avoiding: If you wanted to stay, you would have. Love doesn’t disappear without a trace overnight. People don’t vanish without a reason. And maybe I’ll never know yours. But I learned that sometimes, not knowing is the answer. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came slowly—through small, quiet changes. I started spending time with people who showed up, who stayed, who didn’t make me question my worth. I picked up habits that made me feel alive again. I learned how to sit with my own thoughts without letting them break me. And somewhere along the way, I began to see things differently. Your leaving wasn’t about me not being enough. It was about you not being able to stay. One evening, months later, I found myself back at that same café. Same table. Same tea. But a different version of me. I sat there, expecting to feel that old pain again—but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a strange sense of calm. Like I had finally made peace with something that once destroyed me. I thought about you. Not with anger. Not even with sadness. Just… acceptance. Maybe you had your reasons. Maybe you didn’t. But I no longer needed to know. Because I had learned something more important than any explanation you could have given me: Not everyone who walks into your life is meant to stay. Some people come to teach you something—about love, about loss, about yourself. And sometimes, the lesson only makes sense after they’re gone. You taught me how strong I could be. You taught me that silence can hurt more than words. But most importantly, you taught me that I deserve someone who chooses me—not just once, not just when it’s easy—but every single day. So yes… You left without a warning. But I didn’t disappear with you. I stayed. I healed. I grew. And in the end, I found something I didn’t even realize I had lost while loving you— Myself.
By Ubaid 6 months ago in Chapters
Trump’s Historic Speech Signals Turning Point
Trump’s Historic Speech Signals Turning Point In a dramatic address that captured global attention, Donald Trump delivered remarks suggesting that the United States may soon move toward ending its conflict with Iran. The speech, filled with a mix of confidence and caution, has left analysts debating whether it represents the start of a genuine de-escalation or merely a strategic maneuver.
By Wings of Time 6 months ago in Chapters
The Weight of Their Words
I try to keep up, but my true self is hidden In a world full of secrets and lies. I wonder why honesty felt so forbidden,
By sasa6 months ago in Chapters
Middle East Power Realignment
Middle East Power Realignment The Middle East is undergoing a major geopolitical transformation. Energy routes, nuclear tensions, and shifting alliances are changing the balance of power in ways that could influence global politics for decades. Countries in the region are not only competing for influence but also redefining strategic partnerships, security frameworks, and economic priorities.
By Wings of Time 6 months ago in Chapters
Iran Nuclear Tensions and the Global Power Shift
Iran Nuclear Tensions and the Global Power Shift The geopolitical landscape of the Middle East is entering a new and dangerous phase as concerns grow over Iran’s nuclear program, potential military escalation, and shifting global alliances. Discussions among diplomats, military analysts, and international media increasingly revolve around one critical question: Is the world moving toward a new confrontation centered on Iran’s nuclear ambitions?
By Wings of Time 6 months ago in Chapters
The First Step That Doesn’t Sink
The First Step That Doesn’t Sink The first step doesn’t feel brave. It doesn’t feel strong. It doesn’t feel like a step at all.
By Elisa Wontorcik6 months ago in Chapters
The First Real Breath
The First Real Breath The first real breath doesn’t arrive with relief. It arrives with space. A small, unexpected pocket of air inside a body that has been tight, dim, and heavy for too long. I don’t notice it at first. It slips in quietly, the way light slips under a door — thin, hesitant, almost accidental.
By Elisa Wontorcik6 months ago in Chapters
The Return of Sensation
The Return of Sensation Sensation doesn’t return like a flood. It returns like a spark — small, hesitant, almost shy. A single point of awareness in a body that has been dim, heavy, and quiet for too long.
By Elisa Wontorcik6 months ago in Chapters
The Small Movements
The Small Movements The small movements are the only movements I have left. Not the rising. Not the walking. Not the reaching.
By Elisa Wontorcik6 months ago in Chapters
We Said Forever… But Meant Goodbye
Some promises feel eternal… until they quietly fall apart. BY: Ubaid We used to say “forever” like it was something we could hold in our hands. Like it was real. Like it was ours. I still remember the first time you said it. We were sitting on that quiet rooftop, the city lights flickering below us like distant stars. You looked at me with that soft smile—the one that always made me feel like I was home—and you whispered, “No matter what happens, it’s you and me. Forever.” And I believed you. God, I believed you with everything I had. At first, it felt easy. Love always does in the beginning. Late-night calls, endless laughter, shared dreams about a future we hadn’t even built yet. We talked about everything—where we’d live, what our house would look like, even the names of kids we didn’t have. It felt so real. But somewhere along the way, things started to change. Not suddenly. Not loudly. Just… quietly. The calls became shorter. The texts less frequent. The laughter faded into silence that neither of us knew how to fill. I noticed it before you did—or maybe before you admitted it. I kept trying. I tried to hold on to the “forever” we promised. I reminded you of our dreams, our plans, the way we used to be. But every time I reached out, it felt like you were already slipping away. And the hardest part? You didn’t leave all at once. You left slowly. Piece by piece. Until one day, I realized I was the only one still holding on. I remember the night everything finally broke. We were sitting together again, just like that first time—but this time, the silence was heavy. Uncomfortable. The kind that presses on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. I looked at you, searching for something—anything—that reminded me of who we used to be. But your eyes… They didn’t look at me the same way anymore. “I think we’ve changed,” you said quietly. Changed. Such a simple word for something that felt like destruction. I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight for us, for everything we had built. I wanted to remind you of the promises we made—the “forever” we once believed in. But deep down, I already knew the truth. We didn’t mean forever. We just didn’t know it yet. Tears filled my eyes, but I forced a small smile. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Maybe we have.” And just like that, it was over. No dramatic goodbye. No shouting. No chaos. Just two people sitting side by side, pretending they were okay with losing everything they once called home. After you left, the silence became louder than anything I had ever known. Every place reminded me of you. Every song felt like a memory. Even the smallest things—the way you used to say my name, the way you laughed at your own jokes—haunted me. I kept asking myself the same question over and over: How can something that felt so right end like this? But the truth is, not all love stories are meant to last. Some are meant to teach you. And you… you taught me everything. You taught me how deeply I could love. How much I could give. How strong I could be, even when my heart felt like it was breaking into pieces. But you also taught me something else. Something I didn’t want to learn. That sometimes, people say “forever” when they really mean “for now.” And that doesn’t make the love any less real. It just means it wasn’t meant to stay. It’s been a while since that night. I won’t lie and say I don’t miss you. I do. Sometimes more than I should. But I’ve started to understand something I couldn’t see back then. Loving you wasn’t a mistake. Believing in us wasn’t foolish. It was just… a chapter. A beautiful, painful, unforgettable chapter. And even though we said “forever”… What we really meant was goodbye.
By Ubaid 6 months ago in Chapters