When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
I took a risk, unsure, afraid,
Sent my son where paths weren’t laid.
“Isha” called with quiet grace,
A school, a space, a sacred place.
No map in hand, just mother’s trust,
But magic bloomed, as all things must.
He found himself, so bold, so true,
And soared beyond what I once knew.
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I am Pahalgam,
Cradled by mountains, carved by rivers,
a hymn of hush, a cradle of peace.
But today, I weep.
What should have bloomed,
a festival of footsteps,
laughter spilled like sunlight on pine,
was shattered by shadows,
by hands heavy with hate.
They were not merely taken,
they were chosen
By a blindness that fears faith,
by a cruelty that marks belief as a wound.
Now, my meadows hold their breath.
The trails sleep beneath dust.
The breeze, once laced with whispers of joy,
carries only the mourning of the land.
This is no passing sorrow.
It is a scar,
etched deep into my valleys,
aching, unhealed, unforgettable.
Simi
“No storm is meant to pull you down
it merely asks, will you rise or frown?
What you hold with poise and grace,
never grows into a tangled place.”
Simi
Through the lens of Chandrakala Rathnam
A uniformed heart
Dad may not say the perfect phrase,
He may be lost in grown-up days.
But every night he comes back home,
To understand how much you’ve grown.
He watches close, though not too near,
Afraid you’ll shrug or disappear.
He listens hard when you half-share,
And learns to pause, to just be there.
He may ask twice what you just said,
His eyes look tired, nodding head.
But still he tries, and still he stays,
To meet your world in newer ways.
He may not get your music right,
Or memes you laugh at late at night.
But still he asks, then asks once more,
Trying to reach your inner shore.
He might not know your favorite song,
Or if your answers take too long.
But still, he waits, behind the noise,
To hold your dreams, your fears, your voice.
He walks the line of strong and soft,
Still learning how to lift you aloft.
You may not see the grace it takes
To hold your storms when his heart breaks.
He sees the flicker in your eyes, the battles fought in muted sighs.
But still he shows up every day,
Learning your world, your teenage way.
He speaks of self, of lessons earned,
Of roads he’s walked and bridges burned.
But deep within, his truest part,
Hopes you’ll outshine his every start.
He lived a life in olive green,
Where orders ruled and fears were seen.
Far from home, in lands unknown,
He stood for more than just his own.
Simi
(Echoes between a father and his son)
The office drains you, day by day,
Deadlines chase the light away.
But in your home, a boy stands still
Becoming a man, by quiet will.
He’s not your daughter, not as warm,
He hides his heart behind his form.
A little rough, a little loud,
Still, he wants to make you proud.
Broader now, with shoulders wide,
A growing strength he tries to hide.
Not just in size, but voice and frame
He’s changing fast, not just in name.
He watches you more than he speaks,
Tries on your steps, your ways, your streaks.
He’ll never say, “I want your shoes,”
But wears your habits like tattoos.
And yes he questions things you do,
He wonders if you’d change them too.
He holds his thoughts, but you should know,
He’s building self from what you show.
He’s in the grind of proving worth,
Unsure of place, unsure of mirth.
He doesn’t want his flaws laid bare,
Just quiet faith that you’ll be there.
He speaks in tones that sometimes sting,
A shield he wears while balancing.
Not meant to hurt or cross the line
Just teenage pride in awkward shine.
He may roll eyes or turn away,
As if your words just drift and sway.
But under that dismissive air,
He hopes you’ll see, and still be there.
He knows you’ve worked, he feels the strain
But seeks your calm more than your claim.
A quiet nod, a shared refrain,
Can guide him more than loud acclaim.
A mother loves, she softens ground,
She lifts him up when he’s weighed down.
But even she though warm and wise
Can’t fill the space he sees in your eyes.
For he looks to you to understand,
The path of boys who seek to stand.
To rough it out, to fix, to run
He longs to talk with a man, not anyone.
He needs your patience, not your plan.
He needs to see a gentle man.
Not perfect, real. Not far, right here,
To share his pride, his doubt, his fear.
Take him along just walk the lane,
Talk cars and bikes and weekend rain.
Ask him how his run felt today,
If he’s building strength his way.
Or let him strum his dear guitar,
And tell you dreams that stretch too far.
He won’t be here for long, you know
College calls, and boys must go.
These little talks on simple things
Might one day give his manhood wings.
For even men who grow up bold
Need someone real to help them mold.
So take a drive, or share the sky,
And meet him there just man and guy.
He won’t ask much, but he will see
The kind of man he hopes to be.
Simi
Beats of joy, beats of strife,
Rhythms lost, then found in life.
Soft and steady, loud and free,
Life drums on, its a melody
Simi.
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
“Don’t you feel you’ve wasted time?” they say,
But caring and giving never betray.
The time I have given is woven with care,
In souls I’ve shaped, my echoes are there.”
How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?
When the road bent sharp, and the path turned steep,
More courage stirred, because there were promises to keep.
For every ‘no’ that broke my way,
A stronger ‘yes’ was built the same day.
Simi says... 