Secrets
When Phones Were Not Our World: A Journey Back to Simpler Times
Remember the skies that stretched so wide, Where dreams would dance and hopes would glide, No screens to flicker, no buzzing calls, Just barefoot races down dusty halls. We built our castles in the sand, Held galaxies inside our hand, We laughed till dusk with skinned-up knees, And chased the whispers of the breeze. No stories snapped, no videos streamed, Only the laughter that brightly beamed, We shared our candies, traded dreams, Invented worlds by babbling streams. With sticks as swords, with crowns of mud, We fought great battles through field and flood, The puddles were oceans, the trees our forts, And every victory earned in sports. Our playgrounds stretched beyond the eye, No filters blurred the open sky, A cricket bat, a rubber ball, Defined our summers, one and all. We counted stars on sleeping nights, And shivered under northern lights, No urgent buzz, no flashing light, Just mother’s call to end the night. Bicycles whirred through village lanes, We raced the trains, outran the rains, Our cheeks were flushed, our spirits wild, Unbroken dreams of a fearless child. The simple joy of spinning tops, The endless thrill of candy shops, We waited weeks for fairs to come, To win cheap toys and chew on gum. We carved our names on schoolyard trees, We tied our dreams to floating leaves, The rivers whispered songs we knew, As barefoot, wild, we simply flew.Letters traveled from hand to hand, Promises sealed with grains of sand, No urgent emoji could replace, The warmth of touch, the smiling face. Sunsets meant a world of gold, Stories that the elders told, Tales of dragons, kings, and wars, Of sailing ships and wishing stars. Festivals lit the village square, With laughter heavy in the air, We danced to drums, we sang aloud, No live streams shared the buzzing crowd. Birthdays were a humble treat, Homemade sweets and little feats, No cake-cut posts, no trending news, Only heartfelt smiles to choose. We knew our neighbors, sang their names, Played barefoot cricket in rough games, Chalk on pavement, swing-set songs, We stitched our summers wild and long. When letters written by careful hands, Flew farther than these broadband lands, The ink would fade, but never die, Unlike the pixels we swipe by. No reels to post, no lives to stream, Only real laughter and shared dream, A friend's hug spoke more than a text, A moment lived, not second-guessed. Yet here we sit, with heads bowed low, Into our phones, we barely glow, The world outside, a whisper fades, While screens consume our sunny days. Close your eyes, and hear once more, The knock, the shout, the old front door, The giggle fit at foolish jokes, The muddy streams, the climbing oaks. Let’s find the children we have lost, Beyond the network's heavy cost, Let's build again those dreams we hurled, Back when phones were not our world.Start writing... 2 Remember the time, when the skies were wide, When laughter echoed, with nothing to hide, No glowing screens, no endless feed, Just open fields and childhood’s need. We chased the winds and climbed the trees, Built paper boats that sailed the seas, We ran with dreams on dusty roads, And carried laughter as our loads. No texts, no calls, no ringtones loud, Just shouting names across a crowd, A broken slipper, a playful fight, A streetlamp's glow our only light. We played with marbles, tops, and strings, Imagined castles, kings, and wings, We'd race the rains and dance in mud, While puddles splashed and heartbeats thud. Our bruises told a thousand tales, Of backyard forts and hidden trails, Of secret handshakes, secret codes, Of sun-kissed fields and endless roads. No selfies snapped, no double-tap, Just honest smiles and friendly clap, A pat on back, a playful shove, An endless stream of brotherly love. Evenings came with sunset hues, And tales our grandmas would infuse, Of fairy lands and talking trees, Of magical ships that sailed the seas. No apps, no snaps, no video calls, Just echo games through broken walls, We scribbled hearts on dusty ground, And twirled in circles round and round. When friendship bloomed without a screen, When love was pure, and eyes were keen, We wrote our letters slow and neat, And mailed them down the bustling street. We climbed the roofs, we touched the stars, We made believe the moon was ours, No GPS to guide our play, Just intuition led the way. Birthdays meant a homemade cake, A chorus loud enough to shake, No viral posts, no flashing lights, Just hugs that warmed the coldest nights. Summer vacations stretched so long, With cricket games and silly songs, Our hearts beat wild with simple joys, No gadgets needed for girls and boys. We flew our kites in open skies, Dreamt without a thousand tries, No filters masked our dirty cheeks, We proudly wore those scrapes for weeks. Skipping stones on lazy streams, Building forts in childhood dreams, We lived our lives in shades so bright, Without a charger through the night. Now here we are, with phones in hand, Lost in pixels, lost in sand, Tapping screens but losing touch, Missing the world we loved so much. Notifications steal our sleep, While memories grow buried deep, Our thumbs are fast, our hearts are slow, We've forgotten how to truly glow. So close your eyes, remember back, The muddy fields, the railway track, The laughter pure, the sunsets gold, The fearless dreams, the hands we’d hold. Let’s find that child we used to be, Beyond the walls of technology, Let’s run again with arms unfurled, Back to when phones were not our world.
By raj Ubale2 years ago in Confessions
DHOKHA
Dhokha: The Pain of Betrayal and Its Impact on the Human Heart “Dhokha” — a single word that carries the weight of heartbreak, trust shattered, and emotional turmoil. Derived from Hindi and Urdu, "dhokha" means betrayal or deception. It is an experience that most people face at least once in life, whether in relationships, friendships, or even professional settings. The sting of betrayal can be deeply personal and emotionally devastating, often leaving long-lasting scars on the mind and heart The Nature of Betrayal
By Gayatri Nagpal2 years ago in Confessions
I think about dying a lot, but I'm not exactly suicidal
I wonder sometimes how common this is — how many people walk through their lives carrying these kinds of thoughts in silence. I wouldn't know. I don't really talk about it. And I’ve never been to therapy. I know I probably should, but there are other issues that get in the way — namely, other issues caused by my upbringing, which make me feel like I have to do everything myself. But that’s a story for another time. If you’re reading this, tell me — does this sound familiar to you? For me, it doesn’t have a trigger. It doesn’t come only when things are bad or after something upsetting. It’s quieter than that. It can happen while I'm doing absolutely nothing — brushing my teeth, sitting on the bus, watching a TV show. A thought will slip into my mind: "What if I just wasn’t here anymore?" It doesn’t feel like a scream. It feels like a whisper. And it lingers. I say I'm not suicidal because I don't think about hurting myself. I don’t fantasize about it or make plans. It’s more like wishing to be removed, quietly and without violence. It’s like wanting to step out of a room without making a sound. If I'm flying somewhere, part of me hopes the plane might go down — instantly, painlessly. Some nights, I go to bed and think, "Maybe I won’t wake up. Maybe that would be fine." When I imagine the future — old age, losing people I love, losing pieces of myself — I feel a kind of exhaustion ahead of time. And sometimes, it seems easier to hope I won’t be around for all of it. It doesn’t feel like giving up. It feels like accepting that everything ends — and wondering if it would be so bad if it ended a little sooner. I remember talking with a client, an older man, about retirement and savings. He spoke about plans, about stretching life out carefully across the years. And all I could think about was saving enough to go to Switzerland someday — because I feel that is a better and more humane way to do it, if the time ever came. Sometimes I wonder if I’m depressed — if there’s a diagnosis waiting for me that I’ve been too proud or too stubborn to face. Sometimes I wonder if this is just the way some people experience life — not a sickness, but a different temperature of living. I don't really know. And yet — here I am. Living. Working. Laughing at jokes. Making plans for tomorrow. Sometimes I even catch myself feeling hope, feeling excitement about things I haven't seen or done yet. Sometimes, I love life so much it scares me. It’s confusing to hold both realities inside yourself: the quiet wish to go and the stubborn will to stay. I don’t have a neat conclusion. I’m writing this more as a question than a confession. Am I depressed? A fool? Or just... human? If you recognize yourself in these words, please know you're not the only one. Maybe part of staying alive is allowing these thoughts to come and go — not fighting them, not feeding them, just letting them pass like weather over a landscape. Maybe surviving looks different for everyone. Maybe survival, in the end, is quieter than we think.
By Elias Tannuri2 years ago in Confessions
The Shopping List. Top Story - April 2025.
Author’s Note: A shopping list might seem like a simple thing, but it often carries all the small balances we try to keep in life — between what we want, what we need, and what we dream of. This poem is a lighthearted reflection of my own everyday choices, sprinkled with a bit of humor and honesty.
By Henrik Hageland2 years ago in Confessions
The Weight of Tomorrow
The Weight of Tomorrow No one knew exactly when the city of Liora first began to dim. It happened slowly, like the silent falling of dust on an abandoned book. Some blamed the endless gray clouds that draped the sky like an old, heavy blanket. Others whispered of a "sorrow fever," a sickness of the spirit that had crept into their hearts.
By Gabriela Tone2 years ago in Confessions
When the Stars Started Whispering"
No one truly believed it at first. The idea that the stars — those ancient, cold lights suspended across the black fabric of space — could speak to us seemed absurd. Astronomers chalked it up to interference, scientists waved it away as atmospheric anomalies, and philosophers merely smiled knowingly, as if they had been expecting it all along.
By Said Nawab2 years ago in Confessions
I Lied to Everyone About My Job — And the Truth Was Worse Than They Thought
I used to be the person everyone looked up to. In my early twenties, I worked at a company that seemed to have it all: high-end clients, impressive salaries, and a career path that was guaranteed to lead to success. I had everything I could have dreamed of… or so I told myself.
By Muhammad Sabeel2 years ago in Confessions
