About Book

Reading *I Once Lived* felt like holding a mirror to every unspoken corner of my soul... Read more

Reading I Once Lived felt like holding a mirror to every unspoken corner of my soul. Poems like A Tear’s Monologue shattered me with their quiet devastation—the tear’s journey from nourishment to exile, its "salty existence" fading unnoticed, became a haunting metaphor for all we bear silently. Yet, even in its despair, the collection never surrendered to bleakness. Lines like "I am still blooming" (from Rain) or the tear’s resigned acceptance of its fate pulsed with a paradoxical strength, as if the poet were whispering: "Look at the wound, then look beyond it."

What I cherished most was the book’s refusal to simplify human experience. It honored grief (A Tear’s Monologue), celebrated resilience (Rain), and exposed societal fractures (An Aged Laborer) with equal tenderness. If I longed for anything, it was perhaps a touch more lightness—a reprieve from the weight—but even that absence felt intentional. This is a book that demands to be felt, not just read. It lingers like a heartbeat after a storm: bruised, but stubbornly alive.