For those who keep looking for answers and those who finally muster the courage to ask questions
For those who want to believe in hope and those who feel there is no hope left
For those who are searching for their roots and those who are ready to let go of them
For those who desperately need the light and those who are a light for others even when they are in a dark place
No Roots Attached: Honest Poems for Curious Souls
Some journeys don’t take us around the world.
They take us back to ourselves.
No Roots Attached is a poetry collection about spiritual growth, self-discovery, and learning to trust the quiet voice within. These poems encourage reflection, ask uncomfortable questions, and remind us that sometimes we have to loosen our grip on certainty before we can truly grow.
Through quiet reflections, honest questions, and moments of unexpected clarity, these poems invite you inward—to begin a conversation with yourself. They explore identity, healing, spirituality, belonging, and the courage it takes to let go of who you thought you had to be.
This is an invitation to pause, to listen, and perhaps to remember the person you’ve always been beneath the noise.
For anyone searching for meaning, belonging, or simply a moment of stillness.
Some roots hold us in place.
Others keep us from growing.
No Roots Attached releases on October 30, 2026. It will be available in ebook, paperback, and hardcover formats, and will be included in Kindle Unlimited.
If people remembered that kindness matters. If they had an ability to swap places with others and feel what they feel. That would be a game changer, wouldn’t it?
If people remembered that it’s not about the money. That the times when people proudly packed all their possessions to accompany them into their graves are long gone. None of it will matter when you take your last breath.
If people remembered life isn’t a power struggle. You’re not here to prove anything to anyone, to impress, to compete, to win. Each and every one of us is on their own journey. Live and let live.
If people realized we’re all different, and it’s not just okay, it’s actually amazing. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. That’s the beauty of humanity. We’re all made of the same energy, regardless of what we look like on the outside.
If people remembered that tomorrow’s never promised. And that you don’t get a refund for today if it wasn’t to your liking. There’s no pause button. There’s no rewind option.
If people remembered that love isn’t something you get — it’s something you give, first of all. Love attracts love. If there’s no love inside you, it won’t magically appear on the outside. And it starts with loving yourself.
If people remembered that words have power. Words can heal and they can kill. And once the damage has been done, it can’t be easily erased. Words matter and should be used with wisdom and caution.
If people noticed the little things. If they opened their hearts to the beauty hidden in the fleeting moments, and focused on that instead of all the worries, grievances, and disappointments.
If people learned to listen. Really listen. With empathy and compassion and understanding. Instead of judging or waiting for the best moment to interrupt and jump in with their own opinion.
If people learned responsibility. If they remembered their words and actions always have consequences. And it’s usually better to prevent than to fix.
If people remembered that life is short and that while we’re all on our own journeys, we still happen to be on this planet together at the same time, so should we really make coexisting that hard? No one really benefits from that, at the end of the day. And if they think they do, they’re just really lost and confused, poor souls.
Recently, I was accused of being a “live-in-the-moment” kind of person. I’m saying accused because in that particular conversation it wasn’t said as a compliment. Or at least that’s not how I saw it.
What matters is, it got me thinking.
First of all, I don’t view myself as that kind of person. I would love to be one, though. I would love to anchor myself to here-and-now, to be fully present in the current moment. Instead, I find myself constantly waiting and chasing. Worrying about the future. Regretting or missing different parts of the past. Always looking forward to something. Always impatient for something. “Can’t wait until” slips from my lips way too often.
As I tried to analyze why I’m like that, I realized that partially (mostly?) it’s based on rarely having any stability in my life.
I was a kid when a country I was born in collapsed. I witnessed a whole empire crumble around me. Not from the news on TV. Not from the stories retold by others. No, I was there, inside it. Everything I knew, everything I was used to—it all changed pretty much in an instant.
Most of the nineties in my part of the world (my teenage years and young adulthood) was pretty much spent in survival mode. It taught me a lot. It made me strong and resilient. But it took its toll. The concept of stability had become alien to me.
Or maybe it started much earlier, when I was a little girl and found out that my father wasn’t a part of a scientific expedition in a faraway land as I had believed. And that he was never coming home. Because he didn’t have any interest or intention to. Because he was living happily with his family in the same city as me and didn’t really care if I existed.
Maybe it was then that I started subconsciously waiting for better, happier times.
Because, as we know, hope dies last.
My first big loss was my grandfather who was like a dad to me. Strong, active, and full of life. He fell and broke his leg, and then he was gone within a month. All of a sudden, everything in his body crumbled like so many things tend to do in my life.
Then there were ten years of marriage. I loved him with all my heart. We built a house together and had a son. We even moved to a different country together. Throughout most of those years he was struggling with addiction. And I kept trying to save him. Needless to say, stability doesn’t belong in a scenario like that.
He lost the battle. Taking his life at 35, leaving behind a 10-year-old son, and shattering my whole world once again.
Years of living in immigration as a single mother didn’t contribute to feeling secure. The mythical concept of stability kept slipping away from me.
So no wonder I struggled to find comfort and security and to be able to look into the future without fear.
Maybe this “can’t wait until” is rooted in the never dying glimmer of hope. I wish I could let go of the fear and doubt. To stop worrying about everything and just live happily in the moment. Such conflicted feelings — fearing the future subconsciously yet craving a better tomorrow and always trying to rush the time to see if that bright future is indeed around the corner.
So yes, I have to admit, becoming a “live-in-the-moment” kind of person is not a reality for me now, but most definitely an aspiration.
If anyone told me a year or two ago that I would be publishing a poetry collection, I’d find it hard to believe.
Since I started writing four years ago, I’ve always had several works in progress. I was working on my fantasy trilogy, writing short stories in between novels (for different anthologies and for my own short story collection), and even started learning screenwriting.
I think the first poem came out of nowhere when I was feeling overwhelmed with my teenage son going away for a month and a half. Writing my feelings down was sort of therapeutic. Back then, I just left those words in a note on my phone, not knowing that it was the moment a new door opened for me. Or, rather, for my words—in poetry form.
I often say that poems pretty much write themselves, and it’s true. They either come or they don’t. I never sit there thinking, “I should write a poem. What will it be about?” No, the words just appear in my head and insist on being written down.
As more and more poems poured out, I started putting them all together into a collection (as well as sharing them on social media and here on my blog).
They’re all different. Some short, some long. Some dark and raw, others uplifting and inspirational.
One thing they all have in common is that they come from the depths of my soul. From looking inward and trying to understand myself and this world.
That’s why I decided to call this book Reflections.
I’m beyond anxious to share this collection with the world, to be honest. I have never considered myself a poet. All the words — as imperfect as they may be — are genuine and heartfelt. And it’s a scary thing, serving your heart on a plate for everyone’s judgement.
But I dare hope that apart from judgement my words will find a different kind of connection with the reader. One where they make you feel something. Where they inspire you to look inside, and ask questions, and seek answers. Where they inspire reflections of your own.
Below is the back cover blurb for Reflections. It releases on November 30, 2024, and is currently available for preorder on Amazon.
If you decide to give my little book a chance, thank you from the bottom of my heart and I truly hope you enjoy it.
Who do you see when you look in the mirror?
A friend? An enemy? A stranger?
Have you ever truly stopped to look into those eyes—not a rushed glance, but a long, deep, searching gaze? They say eyes are the windows to the soul. What do you see in yours? Light or darkness? Hope or despair? Pain, anger, joy, or love?
Perhaps it’s a little of everything. Inside each of us is a vast, unexplored universe—a fascinating, complex world that often feels too scary to confront. But if you find the courage to dive in, to truly look inside, you might discover something you’ve been searching for all along, perhaps without even realizing it.
You might discover yourself.
Reflections is a poetry collection that invites you on a journey of self-discovery, encouraging you to look inward with open eyes. Through raw, honest verse, this book will be your companion as you explore the depths of your soul and meet the person waiting to be found.
