You laugh at them. You point your finger and call them a fool. Their silence amuses you, their gentleness becomes your joke, and the crowd joins your laughter as if kindness were weakness. It feels enjoyable today, sweet on your tongue like careless victory. Their patience becomes your stage, their humility your entertainment. But time is a quiet witness. It watches without speaking, It writes its lessons slowly in the turning pages of life. A day will come When laughter turns into tears. The echoes of your mockery will return to your own ears like thunder across an empty sky. Situations will arise without warning, storms without hands to beat you Yet heavy enough to break your pride. Pain will arrive quietly, And you will feel the trembling of a heart that once laughed too loudly. And that fool, that funny person you once mocked, may stand in the distance, not laughing, but witnessing your tears, your shaking voice, Your falling ego. For life has a patient way of bending the tallest p...
Deep in the jungle, where paths forget themselves and birds grow silent, stood her house. It leaned as if it were listening, its walls darkened by years of secrets. People said going there was a journey with no return—and those who laughed at the warning were never seen again. The old lady lived alone. No family, no friends, no visitors she didn’t invite. Her smile was famous in nearby villages, but not for warmth. It was a tight, bloodless curve of the lips, stretched too carefully, as if it had been practiced in a mirror for decades. It never reached her eyes. Those eyes were always busy—measuring, planning, deciding. She was mean in ways that didn’t shout. Her cruelty whispered. Beneath the house was a basement carved into the earth, damp and airless. That was where people disappeared to. Travelers who needed rest. Relatives who trusted blood too much. Strangers who believed old age meant weakness. She locked them away and broke them slowly, not with chains alone, but with time. Yea...