SAMA

  We live upon a tiny world, a small and fragile fragment floating through an immeasurable universe. Around us, galaxies collide. Stars are born in furnaces of light. Worlds drift through darkness, and realities stretch beyond the furthest borders the human mind can imagine. And yet— in the middle of all this immensity, a single conversation can change the shape of our day. A few words, carried from one human to another, can lift our heart, break our heart, or quietly alter our life forever. And every night, we disappear. We close your eyes and surrender the world. For a few hours, we are no longer a witness to ourself. We do not watch ourself sleeping. We do not witness the moment we vanish from our own awareness. Then, somehow, the world returns. Our memories return. Our name returns. Our worries, our happiness, our unfinished thoughts— all of them gather around us again. And we return. We open our eyes. And once again, we become that extraordinary creature capable of changing an...

  In my lifetime, I came to know of an obscure poet, a man whose talent had never been given the chance to flourish because he lacked the financial means to pursue his creativity. He had become a slave to his work, a work that controlled both him and his time. Our poet was a man of extraordinary sensitivity, and that very sensitivity made him deeply sorrowful. For there was nothing in this life that could not wound him. The sight of the destitute poor and the suffering sick would make his heart ache. Even things that others might envy people for possessing could bring him to tears. He was one of those rare individuals who could see beyond the surface of things, never content with appearances alone. In other words, he spoke only to the soul, understanding all its torments and all its joys. People accused him of weakness because he was so compassionate and forgiving. One day, the poet met a girl of breathtaking beauty and a pure heart. They fell in love. But who said our man was livi...

  **In a World More Connected, Yet More Alone•• Since the beginning of time and through centuries of misunderstanding, it was once hidden behind the shadows of superstition, blamed on evil spirits, divine punishment, or forces beyond human understanding. Today, we have learned to give it a name, to understand its complexity, and to recognise its existence. But have we truly learned to listen? We live in a world that grows more complicated with every passing day. A world where expectations rise, pressures multiply, and the weight of simply existing can sometimes feel unbearably heavy. And yet, in an age where we have never been more connected, perhaps we have never felt more alone. Our screens have become our meeting places. Our messages have replaced our embraces. Our online presence has grown, while our physical presence in each other’s lives quietly fades. Social media offers us countless faces, carefully captured smiles, and glimpses of lives that may be beautiful, but are rarel...

  I walked the road of life, that ancient road of dust. I walked swiftly, and with every step, the earth surrendered a little of itself and rose behind me in clouds. Dust that carried me farther from those who followed, dust that blurred their vision and made me seem farther ahead. Yet slowly… so slowly… the dust settled. And beneath it, the road began to forget my footsteps. Footsteps once strong, then weary with the weight of pain— footsteps that had pressed deeper and deeper into the earth, as though searching for the place from which I had first emerged. The earth from which I was born… the earth to which, one day, I would return. I kept walking. Farther. Faster. Deeper into time. Until the road that had carried me finally became my grave, and the earth opened its silent arms and hid me within its darkness. But the footsteps behind me continued. Those who once followed me walked over the very ground that had become my resting place. They stepped upon the dust of my journey with...