I am not the name you know,
Nor the man who wears this skin.
I am the ache that haunts your breath—
The echo buried deep within.

I am the fire beneath your silence,
The ink on pages left unread.
The shadow standing at your door
When all the pretty truths have fled.-

I was born in Noida, India—yes.
But I have died in lands unknown.
In deserts, flames, and oceans deep,
I’ve watched my soul be carved and thrown.

Every lifetime left a scar.
Every scar became a guide.
I do not write for praise or light—
I write for those who never hide.

For the one still crawling through the dark,
With no applause and no disguise,
I leave behind these words, these wounds—
So you remember how to rise.

If you are that one, still breathing, still unseen—
Welcome home,
You’ve always been.