Rajeev Verma
To Learnt
If you want to fly,
give up everything
that weighs you down—
not all at once,
not violently,
but with understanding.
Because some weights
were once anchors,
and some chains
were once safety rails.
Before you release them,
you must know
why you held them so tightly.
You are not heavy by birth.
You learned heaviness.
You collected it slowly—
a disappointment here,
an unspoken fear there,
a promise you kept
long after it stopped breathing.
Every regret added a stone,
every comparison added iron,
every “what if”
stitched another pocket
into your soul
and filled it with doubt.
If you want to fly,
you must question
what you are carrying.
Is this guilt still teaching me?
Is this anger still protecting me?
Is this pain still necessary,
or has it overstayed its welcome?
Some burdens shout,
but most whisper.
They tell you they are essential,
that without them
you will lose your shape,
your history,
your worth.
They lie.
You do not become empty
by letting go.
You become light.
Light enough
to rise above old conversations,
above rooms where your voice shrank,
above mirrors that only reflected
who you used to be.
Flight is not escape—
it is perspective.
To fly
is not to forget the ground,
but to refuse to be owned by it.
You still remember
where you fell,
where you crawled,
where you waited for someone
who never arrived.
But those memories
no longer tie your ankles together.
They become wind,
not weight.
Give up the need
to be understood by everyone.
Give up the habit
of explaining your wounds
to people who enjoy your silence.
Give up the idea
that rest is weakness,
that softness is surrender,
that staying broken
makes you loyal to the past.
If you want to fly,
release the version of yourself
that survives
but never lives.
Release the voice that says
“this is enough”
when your soul
is still hungry.
Release the fear
that growth will cost you love—
because love that fears your wings
was never meant to stay.
Wings are not built overnight.
They grow slowly
from courage,
from forgiveness,
from choosing yourself
on days it feels selfish.
Some days you will rise,
some days you will only glide,
and some days
you will return to the ground—
but you will return knowing
you are not trapped there.
If you want to fly,
understand this:
nothing truly meant for you
will be lost
when you let go of the weight.
What remains
will be lighter,
stronger,
and finally able
to lift you toward the sky
you always belonged to.
RAJEEV VERMA 