The Author's Unspoken Words (MGS Writings)

In a place filled with laughter and light, There was a girl named AYA, A tiny, tall girl with blond curly hair, She is fond of creating TikTok dances. She wears a genuine smile like a gentle breeze, Her confidence sparks each mind to ignite, When she talks, she expresses clearly, directly without rambling, She is the gem of the family like a diamond treasure, Her heart is as warm as the sun that gives happiness, Her spirit radiates joy that brings cheers, She was the heartbeat of her family, Always ready to lend a helping hand. For her siblings, she is indeed a gem. Sharing secrets, sharing dreams, and sharing hopes, That’s what she and her siblings spend most of the time, She embraced every moment with enthusiasm and love,   Whenever she’s with her siblings, laughter echoed through the halls, Her diligent helping hands bring smiles to her aunties and uncles, She had a special bond with her father, Their connection woven with love and understanding, A bond that made her feel safe ...

In the quiet of my heart, a door swings wide, After the death of my Mother I learned to abide. I have a family that feels like a distant shore, Where love once flourished, now I don’t bother anymore. As a child, I wandered, an outcast in the fold, Only my mother's warmth, a refuge to hold. But siblings turned strangers, with hearts made of stone, In their laughter, I felt the chill of the unknown. Words like daggers, sharp and unkind, “Not really invited,” echoes in my mind. A sister’s and brother's cruel jest, a wound that won’t mend, In that moment, I knew, to them I don’t belong. I tried to connect, to bridge the divide, But every attempt felt like a futile ride. Arguments bloomed where silence should reign, My voice drowned in echoes of frustration and pain. Through the heartaches and pains, a lesson I learned, Love those who cherish, respect those who care. Seek no validation from those ungrateful, To find peace in the distance, in the...

We are like a book with stories untold, Cover adorned but the truth lies below, Most glance at the surface, the colours, and the arts Yet few will discover the depths of the heart.   We are like a book that stories exaggerate, Cover maybe old, authors are unknown,  But it's the pages within that hold what is pure.  Some read just the intro because they get bored,  But missing the chapters that explains who we are.    We are like a book that stories to tell,  Critics may chatter with opinion so loud,  Judging the story, lose in the crowd,  But they know not the struggles, the triumphs, the pain, The ink of our journeys, the joy and the strain.   We are like a book that stories forget,  For every life lived is a nature rich,  With twist and with turns, each moment a stitch,  The laughter, the sorrow, the lessons we learn,  Are woven together like pages that turn.    We are like a book and like a reader of the ...

In the quiet of night, when the world is still, I’ve seen my mother face a portrait of will. With tears that fell softly, like rain on the ground, Yet each morning she rose, with strength profound. Her life for each challenge, heavy and stark, But she faced them all, igniting a spark. With grace in her heart and love in her hands, She built us a home, where hope always stands. Through struggles and trials, she taught me to fight, To stand tall and strong, to embrace the light. In her silent battles, I learned to be brave, To carry my burdens, to love and to save. Though shadows may linger, and nights may be long, Her spirit whispers softly, “Daughter, you are so strong.” Her every tear, there’s a morale to find,   A testament of courage, a heart intertwined. I could never be weak, for I’ve seen her rise, A warrior of love, with fire in her eyes. From my super woman, learned and behave To face every storm, to dance in the rain. A salute for my mother, a...

True Friends  Not everyone around you is your friend. Because they laugh with you, Spend time with you, or even offer compliments? That doesn't mean they have good intentions. People can pretend well. Indeed, they can… Beware! In the West Side some may act supportive and kind, But deep down, they may not wish you well. True friendship is not about who’s around, Dance with you during your good times.  It’s about who stands by you during your tough times. Real friends offer support, Give encouragement, Swear to keep a secret, Share honesty, even truth hard to hear. In the South Side, Fake people will disappear when things get difficult. They may even take pleasure in your struggles. Look at how people act when you’re going through challenges. Do they offer help, or do they gossip about your situation? Real situations reveal true colors. Often, when life gets hard, Fake people can no longer keep up their act.  In East Side, wat...

 In the warmth of the kitchen room, where love is the spice,  Hands work with care, each movement precise. Chopping and stirring, a symphony plays,  A dance of devotion in so many ways. Thank you to those who toil and create, Who season our meals with love on each plate. Your effort is woven in every fine dish, A labor of heart, a culinary wish. As we gather around, let us pause and reflect, On the flavors and textures, the time we connect. Savor each bite, let the taste linger long, In the rhythm of sharing, we all belong. Be present in moments, let gratitude flow, For the meal before us, for the hands that bestow. With each forkful taken, let appreciation rise, For the love in the cooking, the joy in our eyes. So, here’s to the chefs, both near and afar, Your passion and skill are our guiding star. In every shared meal, let us honor the art, And cherish the flavors that nourish the heart.  

After reading a convo in our chat group, this urged me to write another piece.  When I was a child, my mother would say, “Never waste your food; it might not come your way.” Her voice, a soft echo, a lesson profound, In the heart of our home, where love could be found. “Each bite is a treasure,” she’d gently implore, “Think of those hungry, who long for much more.” Her words lingered softly, like shadows at dusk, A blend of concern and a mother’s deep trust. Now as I ponder, with a plate full of fare, I wonder if her warning was born from despair. Was it a threat wrapped in wisdom so tight, Or a reminder of struggles that danced out of sight? Though now we have plenty, her words still resound, A haunting reminder of the lessons I’ve found. In a world full of choices, I still hear her voice, Teaching me gratitude, urging me to rejoice. For every meal shared, for each morsel I take, I honor her wisdom, the path that she’d make. So I savor each bite, with a heart f...