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Honeyed Remembrance

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Your memories gleam - a lucid bright, Like honey held in tempered light; They rise within the hush of morn And gild the hours newly born. In silver currents, slow and deep, They thread the chambers where I sleep; They fill the chalice of my soul Beyond all boundary or control. They overflow the tender brim Into my heart’s receptive dim; A drop - then one more, soft and slow - Falls lighter than love’s undertow. And where they rest, they bloom and shine In petals steeped in amber wine; They linger on my waiting tongue Like sacred hymns still left unsung - A sweetness veiled, a secret fire, At once fulfillment and desire. My eyes grow heavy with their dew, As though they drink the shade of you; A quiet warmth begins to rise, A living flame behind my eyes. The world beyond may surge and roar Like restless tides along the shore, Yet here the air is hushed and sweet, With honeyed stillness at my feet. You are the salt, you are the bread, The silver thread through all I’ve led; Like ink that...
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This is My Choice

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  I listened to the world’s loud call, Tried to fit within their wall, But in my heart, I knew the way- A quiet voice that guides my day.   No need to chase the fleeting praise, No need to shrink, to hide, or maze, I walk my path with gentle grace, A steady heart, a sacred space.   My worth is not in eyes that see, But in the love that lives in me, In truth that whispers soft and clear- My soul’s own song, my voice sincere.   Rain or shine, I stand my ground, In peace, my true self is found- Beauty blooms where honesty sings, This is my life, my choice, my wings.
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The Mastery of the Reins

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In the vast arena of life’s endless race, Where dreams and realities interlace, A horse may gallop with relentless might, Its muscles coiled with strength, a blazing light.   Its heart burning toward the finish line- Yet victory’s not solely by instinct divine. For triumph does not lie in power alone, But in the guidance that shapes the throne.   It’s the rider’s hand, steady and wise, Guiding through both lows and highs, With decisions made in the moment’s grace, And reins of purpose held in place.   Strength alone cannot claim the prize, For skill is born of patience and wise eyes. In science, in arts, in all we pursue, It’s the mind’s imagination that breaks through.   Great experiences, like treasures stored, Shape the soul and strengthen the core, A rich mind, a world in bloom, Fosters creations that dispel the gloom.   The reins themselves are nothing but leather and thread; It is the wisdom that moves them- That makes them art ins...
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The Sovereign Within

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 I rise from ash, with embers in my veins. I tread through dusk, where broken echoes fade. I stand composed before the circling storm. My heart burns bright flame through silent night. I walk through trial with measured breath and will. I face the surge of doubt that grips my chest. I keep my course when tempests howl and press. My soul stands firm stone against dark winds. I cast aside the weight of former shame. I break the clasp of chains long rusted fast. I lift my sight beyond the fractured past. My will stands steel strong, forged in flame. I move ahead, though thunder splits the sky. I press through grief that seeks to bend my frame. I rise anew from each resounding fall. My spirit stands tall, fierce and free. I claim my ground with undiminished voice. I shape my fate with deliberate hand. I hold my truth, though hostile tongues deride. My oath rings loud clear through the night. I stride through fire with steadfast inner calm. I bear the scars as emblems of my growth. I gu...
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A Lady at Her Writing Desk -18th Century

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  High above Sahya’s emerald crest, Where monsoon winds find fleeting rest, A wandering cloud in silver shroud Keeps silent watch from heights unbowed. It drifts where ancient temples rise, Where ocean clasps the island’s sighs, And gathers in its shadowed breast The truths that time has left unguessed. “O Jayan,” murmurs mist and air, “I bear the scenes you cannot share- The fields, the shores, the mountain’s hue Still breathe and softly speak of you. But more than hills and tides I bring; I carry witness of a living thing. Dear Jayan, I saw her there.” In dawn’s pale hush, before the hall Awakes to duty’s measured call, She draws aside the curtain’s light And bends above her page to write. No trumpet sounds, no banners rise- Only the truth behind her eyes. A quiet hand begins to trace A thought long schooled in silent space. Her father’s books line walnut shelves, Histories, sermons, learned selves; By candle’s end and guarded hours She gathered there her hidden powers. The mind-...
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Only One

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  In the quiet yard, where shadows softly lie, Your tiny footprints linger, though you’ve said goodbye. A whispered memory in the breeze’s gentle flow, The echo of your laughter, the light you used to show. Sunlight caught in downy hair, a wonder in your gaze, Exploring all the borders of our fleeting, tender days. A red rose torn in triumph, a treasure in your hand, Moments spun from innocence, too precious to withstand. I remember how I warned, how I tried to keep you near, But time’s unyielding river carried you away from here. Now silent grass and untouched blooms mark where you once stood, A sacred space of memories, misunderstood. Your voice still dances in the corners of my mind, A melody of love that I can scarcely leave behind. Oh, how I long to hold you, to hear your cry again, To keep you in my heartbeat, safe from grief and pain. I trace the empty spaces where your laughter used to ring, Feel the hollow echo of the joy that you would bring. The toys remain in corners, u...
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Grieving Grief

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  I walk through sorrow like quiet rain, softly passing through its terrain - not untouched, nor turned to stone, but carrying echoes of what I’ve known. My heart is numb; no tears will fall, a silent ache behind a wall. No sorrow spills, no pain confessed, just hollow quiet in my chest. When grief is locked and will not rise, it lingers dim behind my eyes. I suffer still, though none can see, and mourn the tears withheld from me. To long for weeping - bitter, strange - to grieve the grief that will not change. A heavier burden I must bear: the weight of absence everywhere. Yet under skin grown cold and thin, a muted pulse survives within - a fragile ember, faint but true, remembering what feeling knew. For numbness is not death of flame, only fire without a name. And even walls I’ve learned to raise may crack beneath these silent days. Then grief may come, both soft and slow, not as a wound but as a flow - a quiet rain on waiting ground, a gentle ache I almost found. I grieve for ...
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