Changing the Game

In a quiet corner of the city,
where people had forgotten how to dream,
lived a poet — his name was jonsan.
His life was locked between paper, ink, and dreams.

Every morning, he sat in the corner of an old coffee shop.
Pen in hand, yet the words scattered into the air.
Once, his poetry had wings —
but now, each verse felt like a prison.

The world said:
"Poetry doesn’t sell, write something people will buy."
But for Aamir, words were not just a livelihood —
they were the air he breathed.

Once upon a time…
His verses carried the life of the city’s streets,
the sound of rain in its pure fall,
and people found themselves hidden between his lines.
But now… critics, publishers, and friendly advice
were draining the colors from his emotions.

First Ghazal Couplets

Words trembled on my lips — autumn’s heavy hour, In my heart’s garden, I haven’t felt joy in many a year.

One evening, rain fell with fierce rhythm.
Aamir wrote half a line in his notebook:
"The rain does not ask for applause… it just falls."
At that moment, he heard a small voice.

A little girl was reading one of his old poems
from a worn-out schoolbook.
Her voice shook, her words stumbled,
but her eyes were lit with a light —
the kind that only comes from truth in words.
She whispered to her friend:
"This poem makes me feel like I can fly."

Poem

These are not just words — they are my wings. These are not just dreams — they are my home. In every drop of rain, lives the verse I once wrote for you.

In that moment, Aamir understood —
this was the purpose.
Not just to sell, not just to publish,
but to reach the heart.

That night, he made his decision:
he would not cage his poetry within commercial rules,
he would change the game.

From the next day,
he began performing in street squares, parks, and markets.
He wrote verses in chalk on walls,
gave small cards with a poem to rickshaw drivers.
No ticket, no permission, no sponsor.
Only words… only feeling.

Second Ghazal Couplets

Empty streets stretch ahead — and I, a lone traveler, Speak my verses, so the path may light with lanterns.

At first, people only smiled and passed,
some stopped for a moment,
others walked on without care.
But slowly,
people began to linger, record with their phones,
and talk about their own dreams.

One day, an old man came and said:
"Son, you’ve reminded me that life is not just to pass through… it is to feel."

Then some young poets came to jonson:
"We also write, but we never thought poetry could breathe on the streets."

They joined him.
The walls were no longer just brick and cement —
they became a canvas of color, poetry, and dreams.
The markets were no longer just for buying and selling —
they became a place where people carried moments home.

Poem

I said — this wall is not a wall, it is a book. I said — this street is not a street, it is a dream. Words kept joining, smiles began to bloom, and for the first time, light spilled from the city’s eyes.

Aamir realized that real victory
was not fame or fortune.
It was when your words
lit up a stranger’s night.

He said:
"I didn’t win by playing their game…
I won by making my own."

Final Ghazal Couplets

Time has changed, but the worth of words has not. I have won — but not by their rules.

And the city?
The city began to hum again.
In the streets, there was no longer only the noise of traffic —
there were verses, melodies, and stories.

Silence had once been my prison,
but words became my freedom.
I did not just change my fate,
I changed the game.