Tag: poem

New Poetry Book Releasing Soon

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.

You can pre-order your copy with a 50% discount here: No Roots Attached Preorder

Forever a Stranger

Standing in the checkout line at the supermarket 

Listening to the people around me 

Thirteen years ago it would all seem so different 

So foreign 

So alien 

Not anymore 

I speak the language 

I understand everything 

I come out and hear a different language on the street 

The one I first learned to speak 

They’re foreigners like me, I think

Although I don’t know if I’m really a foreigner here after all these years 

But I’m not local either 

It’s complicated 

When I get home I’ll switch to the third language

My brain translates automatically 

Sometimes I can’t even recall which language was used

As long as I understood the meaning and replied 

I could go to my home city 

The city crowned by mountains 

The city that hosts the graves of my loved ones 

The city where I took my first breath and my first step 

And so many other firsts

They speak two languages there

I could learn the other one

But I’ll still be a stranger 

I still won’t belong 

I don’t belong anywhere 

But then again, belonging is so overrated 

I wish there were no borders 

I wish we could travel the world freely 

Explore it before deciding to grow roots 

And with all my love to different languages 

I wish we all spoke one 

Language of love and kindness and compassion 

Wouldn’t it be nice

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.

Wouldn’t it be nice?

The Girl Who Was Afraid

the little girl was afraid 

of darkness

of ghosts 

of death

of space

she grew and she learned 

learned to read 

learned to dream 

learned to be afraid of judgement and betrayal 

afraid of being second best 

she wanted to grow things 

trees and flowers and long hair 

she wanted to grow wings

it only worked in dreams 

she grew and she learned 

learned to rely on herself 

learned not to trust

to not turn her back 

to not show her tears

she wanted to create 

to write words that would stick 

in hearts and minds 

but by that time she was fluent in being afraid 

of not being good enough 

she learned to take care of herself and others 

mostly others

they always came first 

there was always someone to save

she kept dreaming 

but she stopped flying in her dreams 

she grew and she learned 

that things are not what they seem 

and people aren’t either 

every lesson brought a new scar

the fears changed 

transformed 

evolved 

she learned to be afraid of wasting time 

time was never enough 

just like her

she grew and she learned 

to be afraid of never actually growing 

of being stuck like a moth in amber

while life passes by laughing at her

the girl had her own kids now 

so she learned to be oh so afraid 

for them

every 

single 

day 

but she also finally learned to say no 

at least sometimes 

courage felt intoxicating

bubbling in her veins 

almost 

giving 

her 

wings

again 

she never liked what she saw in the mirror 

but every day she learned 

to keep that eye contact 

a bit longer

until one day

she didn’t turn away 

she looked at the reflection 

and said 

now I need to learn 

how to stop being afraid 

Confessions of a Wall Clock

They stare at me as if it’s my fault time is too slow.

They glare at me as if it’s my fault time is too fast.

I’m always the one to be blamed, although nothing depends on me.

I’m merely ticking. Reflecting the inevitable reality.

After having served this family for decades, I don’t know how long I have until I end up in the garbage.

Because sadly, they look at me less and less these days.

They used me to teach the little ones how to tell the time. They tried, then gave up. Kids have phones anyway.

Twice a year they move my hands, reminding me what a nuisance I am, for all my modern counterparts can do it on their own.

Sometimes, the batteries die. So I just watch in silence and feel utterly useless. I lose track of time myself, what a nightmare. 

Eventually, they replace the batteries. Although it’s usually accompanied by “why do we need this thing anyway?”

I think my era is fading into oblivion.

Nothing surprising here. 

For even though time is the only reason for my existence, one thing I know for sure: 

Time is ruthless.

Small Big Talk

Let’s talk about the weather

Let’s talk about the smell of coffee teasing your nostrils in the morning

Or the first sun rays sneaking through the curtains to tickle your eyelashes

Let’s talk about goosebumps after listening to your favorite song

every

single

time

Or that book that kept you up all night and you wish you could forget it all so you could read it again

Let’s talk about the sun diving into the sea in the evening and holding its breath for the whole night

And the birds singing in the branches

Celebrating each day

Reminding us all how precious life is

If only we knew their language

Let’s talk about how a cat’s purr

Works better than medicine

And a dog’s wagging tail is a declaration of loyalty

About how your kid’s little hand feels in yours

And their laughter is better than any music ever written

Let’s not talk about the news

Please, leave the politics aside

Let’s not discuss the ever-growing prices and the broken education system

The feeling of impending doom is contagious

Let’s talk about life

Talk about love

A small big talk

To suture our wounded hearts

A Little Bit Better

Maybe I’ll buy myself a pair of yellow boots and a purple hat

Carry a bouquet of daffodils everywhere I go

Smile at strangers and wave at their dogs

Talk to stray cats, sparrows, and trees

Maybe I’ll wear long black dresses and carry a small notebook

Writing a poem on each bench I find

Then ripping out the ink-covered pages and hiding them in rose bushes

Or leaving it for the wind to decide who needs to read those words

Maybe I’ll put on jeans and a hoodie

Wear hiking boots and stock my backpack

Lose my phone and head into the wilderness

To listen to silence

To hide and escape

To find myself

Or maybe I’ll buy boxes of chocolates and dozens of roses

Get a pair of pink sunglasses

And go out on a rainy day

Treating strangers to a flower, a sweet, and a smile

Or maybe I’ll do none of that

I’ll write a silly poem instead

Imagining how I could make this world a little bit better

Kinder

Brighter

At least for a day

Ironic

It’s so sad and ironic

how some things we learn

are a bit too late.

It’s never really too late, of course,

but have you ever felt

that you can’t help but regret

the time wasted on

trying

wanting

hoping

to learn something you know now?

I could never appreciate

being alone

in my younger years.

It was a fear of sorts.

Whenever faced with the

opportunity

(danger? threat?)

of spending some time on my own,

I’d panic and look for ways out,

or ways to let someone in,

calling

texting

arranging

What wouldn’t I give now

for a taste of that

alone time?

On my own,

with my thoughts,

in my world,

in blissful silence,

or with music blasting,

on a lazy stroll,

or curled up with a book.

With no need to

ask and answer,

pretend and engage,

entertain or be entertained

I’m enough for myself,

if only feeling somewhat guilty

for avoiding my own company

for all those years.

Reflections: Coming Soon

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.

A Piece of Me

I’m looking at his suitcase.

It’s packed.

I don’t know if we’re forgetting anything.

There’s a great chance we are.

“Money and documents,” I say,

“That’s all that matters.”

But I think to myself,

“What really matters is that you’re starting a new chapter of your life. On your own. And a piece of my heart goes with you.

My life will never be the same. Neither will yours. And I don’t even know if you feel that piece of me that goes on the journey with you. I hope you do. I want to think it’s one of the essentials you can’t leave behind.

But I don’t know that.

So whatever is left of my fractured heart aches. It’s my problem, though, not yours.

You go. Spread those wings and fly. Face whatever awaits you. You’ve got this, I know.

Live your life. Make the best of it. Have fun. Make mistakes. Learn from them.

And that piece of my heart will always be with you, wherever you go. A souvenir from home. A keepsake. A guiding light, reminding you that you’re loved. So, so loved.”

But I don’t say any of this. Instead, I just remind him to pack all the chargers.