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A Bitter Age

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Look around! We stopped our warm and gentle grace, And pointed fingers in each face. Cold ambition took the night, While poisoned streets consumed the light. *** A bitter sickness filled the air, And turned all kindness into fear. Compassion slowly came to drown, As hatred spread from town to town. *** Honor became a thing for trade, Like shattered dust that boots degrade. For loud applause and party cries, Men sold their truth and wore disguise. *** Thought itself became a crime, And insults ruled through all the time. From morning’s wound till midnight’s flame, Cruel voices called it all a game. *** Each dawn began with sharpened knives, Each night counted the wounded lives. Debate collapsed in rage and pride, While mercy trembled there outside. *** Look at them! The blinded crowds raised banners high, And searched for faults where good deeds lie. The more sincere a person stood, The more they tore apart the good. *** Decency became a shame, And grace was mocked in hatred’s name. Eac...
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The Ways I Slip

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  How many times have I slipped in life Without even touching the ground? As rainwater leaving the edge of a leaf, I too have fallen without a sound. Was it love that carried me away, Or only the fear of being alone? How easily the heart mistakes a passing shadow For a place it can call home. I have wandered from affection into attachment, From attachment into dangerous fire, Like a moth circling a fire lamp at midnight, Knowing the flame still calling it higher. Why does the soul grow restless Even when the hands are full? Why does the moon seem more beautiful To the man standing inside darkness? I have chased comforts beyond my reach, Thinking happiness lived somewhere ahead, As a thirsty traveler in a desert- Running toward a mirage instead. And debts gathered around me quietly, Not only of money - But of promises, mistakes, silences, And words I should never have said. Sometimes I slipped because of others, A crowd laughing, a foolish night, But isn’t a storm only dangerous Whe...
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The Spy with Black Lips

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  She moved like midnight through the crowd, Silent as smoke beneath the rain; A woman shaped from shadow and beauty, With eyes that carried hidden pain. *** She was like a red rose blooming Soft beneath the silver moon, Yet beauty is a subtle poison That withers tender hearts too soon. *** Men admired her graceful figure, Her pale face and her raven hair; None could sense the dangerous secrets Breathing quietly beneath her stare. *** Her black lips held forbidden stories No mortal tongue could dare confess; A smile could open guarded kingdoms Or lead a lonely man to death. *** The painters through forgotten ages Might have framed her haunted grace- A tragic girl beside dark curtains With sorrow resting on her face. *** By day she danced through halls of luxury Among the wealthy, proud, and vain; By night she vanished into alleys Like whispered thunder before rain. *** A red rose rested near her heartbeat, Its petals darkened like her soul; For every lie she softly uttered Left ano...
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The Amusement of Destiny

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  Life blooms briefly like mist on darkened seas. Who draws the line between our wars and peace? We walk like kings on fate’s enormous board, Yet hidden snakes still guard each shining sword. ***  “Can wisdom save mankind from grief and death?” “No mind escapes fate’s slowly counting breath.” We move through life like masters skilled in chess, Through measured thought and disciplined finesse. ***  The bishops glide like swans through lakes of war, The knights leap blind like storms from distant shores. Our fragile pawns march onward row by row, Like winter leaves beneath cold winds that blow. ***  Yet destiny still laughs behind the veil, Checkmating every guarded dream and trail. It rolls its dice through shadows cold and vast, Deciding which bright moment fades too fast. ***  It throws bright ladders toward ambitious hands, Then sends dark serpents coiling through our lands. A single throw may raise a soul to skies, The next may drown an empire once thought wi...
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The Architecture of Silence

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There came a point in my life when the architecture within me changed. ... I used to build my house out of echoes, shouting into the canyons of other people’s hearts, waiting for their voices to return and tell me who I was. I mistook the loudness of my grief for the depth of its importance, believing every wound needed a witness, every silence needed explaining. ... But after a certain limit, something inside me grew still. ... I stopped complaining, not because nothing hurt anymore, but because my heart grew tired of repeating its sorrow to ears that never truly listened. The disappointments stayed for a while, like rain fading on old windows, yet slowly even pain began to lose its voice. ... And so, the architecture changed. ... The walls within me were no longer built from bitterness or the jagged glass of “why,Whose” but from the soft grey mortar of enough. I learned to sit alone in the room of myself without turning on the lights for a guest who was never coming. ... There was a ...
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A Shelter Not of Blood

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  Beneath the bruised and bending sky, A hatchling heard the night reply. No answering wing, no shelter near, Only the language born of fear. The fields stretched vast with iron cold, A wilderness too harsh, too old; And in that dark unmothered land, The small life trembled where it stood. *** His cry was but a fragile thread, A note the empty heavens shed. The wind consumed it, thin and weak, No loving beak returned to seek The lonely spark left in the rain, Half-formed in body, full of pain. Too slight for flight, too worn for sound, He curled against the bitter ground. *** Then through the hush of sleeping trees, There moved a shape with careful ease: A mother dog, worn down by years, With milk and sorrow at her breast. Around her, drowsing puppies lay Entwined within the scent of hay; Yet still she heard the broken call That rose beneath the night for all. *** She came not as the hunter came, Nor driven by the law of name. No bond of feather, fur, or blood Explained the mercy i...
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You Called Me Son

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  You Called Me Son ******************* I was a house with shuttered rooms, A field untouched by living hands. I learned to breathe through hollow spaces And carry silence like a second skin. *** No voice had ever called me “son.” No hand remained when sorrow entered. I drifted through my early years Like ash beneath a restless sky. *** To live unseen is not true loneliness. It is becoming absent within yourself, A quiet fracture under the ribs, A wound that learns how not to speak. *** Then you arrived without thunder, Without promises or demands. You sat beside the ruin gently As though broken things deserved company. *** You never asked me to recover. You never forced light into the dark. You only stayed, calm and certain, Until fear loosened its grip inside me. *** Slowly, I began to change. Your kindness moved through me Like water returning to abandoned earth, Like rain touching a season of drought. *** You became the ground beneath my feet, The river easing an ancient thirst...
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