Is A Secret Ever Safe?

I have a friend with a bottomless supply of secrets. 

Every time we meet, he leans in, whispers something, and bookends it with: 

"I trust you.  I know this will stay with you."

Initially, I felt flattered, though a bit wary: 

One slip of the tongue and I'd be a traitor. 

Until I discovered he'd shared the same secret with three other friends. 

Each one getting the same hushed, holy "I trust you."

My friend's trust was on a group subscription.😃

Real trust is no drumroll, no confessions, no emotional showmanship. 

It shows up quietly in discretion, not declarations.

My friend mistook secrecy for trust. 

He felt important handing out classified information like party favours. 

But trust without discretion is gossip with a halo. 

And when you over-share the same "secret" with everyone, you're not bonding.

You're only burdening the people who now carry what you couldn't.

Trust isn't about how many people you tell. 

It's about how many people don't need to hear it from you to believe it.

The moment someone realises your trust is a group subscription, you stop being a confidant.

You become a liability.

Do you know someone running trust on a group subscription? 

The comment box is a judgement-free zone.

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Bless Me Before You Die

Bless me, O Banyan tree

Not a day have I missed

lighting a lamp at your feet

Your roots thirst for water

even as they rot beneath you.

Yet I come empty handed

seeking blessings from you.

I know you are dying.

Bless me before you go.

Let this tiny lamp 

light your final peace.

Somewhere nearby, an AC hums. 

A chainsaw waits for Monday. 

And a child wraps cloth around her face to ride to school in 48-degree heat.

The tree doesn't curse us. 

Neither do the birds that quietly vanish from its branches.

They sense what we don't. 

It just stops giving shade. 

Stops exhaling. 

Stops holding the soil together. Quietly. Without drama.

We call that development.

The lamp still flickers at its feet. 

Devotion intact. Conscience outsourced to God.

Is there a word for worshipping what you're destroying?

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The Music Between Two Hearts

That morning stayed with me.  

Not for the anniversary itself,  

but for what built it.

He, an army man.  

She, a homemaker.  

Surnames, mother tongues…

So much about them was different.  

Except their faith.

Not faith in religion or ritual,  

but in love, in trust, in respect.

A winter morning.  

Her voice drifted into the guest room

a song untouched by age.  

From the sit-out, he joined in.  

Her melody found his voice.

Forty years held together  

not by habit,  

but by music.  

A duet that smoothed the pauses,  

that chose harmony over solo.

What did I feel?  

Admiration?

Or was it jealousy?

Most couples share a roof.  

Rare ones share a rhythm.  

Where do you find yourself?

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