Ganesha, bearer of burdens, Today mine are heavy—fevered limbs, Unspoken words, tears behind smiles. I ran through rain for flowers, For dresses, for peace. But I forgot to run toward myself. Let this breath be my offering. Let this silence be my aarti. Let this ache be seen—not hidden, not judged. I am not weak. I am weary. And even in weariness, I serve. Even in tears, I love. So hold me, Bappa—not as a devotee, But as a son who needs rest, A father who needs grace, A soul who needs one moment of stillness.