Fourlinegraphia

  A shadow prances through the swirling dust, While quiet grace turns gently to the light; In trailing silks of memory and trust, I walk beyond the twilight of the night. The untamed spirit runs beside my stride, Bound to the wind that sweeps across the plain; Though silent shadows gather by my side, My noble form shall ever free remain. I carry dawn within my searching eyes, A hidden fire no darkness can subdue; Beneath the fading colors of the skies, I find a path where dreams may still come true. The roads behind are woven into scars, Each distant footstep echoing my name; I have learned to read the language of the stars, And turn the ashes of the past to flame. The wind may whisper stories of the years, Of love once lost and promises once sworn; I do not bow before the weight of tears, But wear my sorrow like a crown at morn. Across the fields where golden grasses sway, My footsteps leave no chains upon the ground; I follow neither fear nor yesterday, But listen for the freedom...

A sharp, unruly, twisted thing, That hides within its fleshly frame, It bends, it slips, it coils, it clings, And plays with truth as though a game. It crawls and curls behind the teeth, Then peeks beyond the roof of the mouth; It knows no bounds, no law beneath, No north, no south, no east, no south. A restless creature, quick and sly, It speaks before the mind can think; It lifts a mortal to the sky, Then pushes him beyond the brink. With flattering words it builds a throne, And raises one above the clouds; It carries pride to heights unknown, Then casts the same soul to the crowds. It praises, crowns, deceives, and charms, It makes a stranger seem a friend; Then turns its words to subtle harms, And watches broken ties descend. A blade more keen than tempered steel, It cuts through peace without a sound; It leaves a wound no time can heal, A scar no passage can confound. No sword is needed, none is drawn; One sentence can become a spear. A peaceful heart before the dawn Can wake to h...

I am the tempest, the force and the fire, The wild woman climbing higher and higher. You thought I was a breeze, that was swept by the rain But I learned how to uproot like the strongest trees. You threw me to shadows and locked me away, Hoping my spirit would weaken and decay. But every small spark of your anger and hate Became a bright flame as I rewrote my fate. From every deep wound, I gathered my flame, From every quiet silence, reclaimed my name. I forged wings of fire through darkness and rain, A mother of thunder breaking every chain. Behind my still silence, an ocean had grown, A depth of emotion I carried alone. Now thunder erupts from deep in my chest, Releasing the power I once suppressed. Stand back, old borders; fall, ancient stone! She has found the courage to stand on her own. I am not the shadow you wanted to see; I am the woman whose soul demanded to be free. But listen before you name me destruction and flame; There is more to my fury than anger or blame. I need open...

  Beneath the storm of restless thought, A silent lake lies still and deep; Each wave the wandering world has brought Slowly dissolves in waters asleep. Like a leaf that trembles in the wind, My thoughts drift restless, lost and free; Yet somewhere deep within my mind A quiet shore still waits for me. No wind disturbs the depth below, No shadow lingers on the stream; The stillness holds a tender glow, Reflecting every fading dream. Dwelling deep within me, there stays A restless, mischievous companion- My mind, that wanders through endless days, Yet never leaves me in my desolation. But then a thought begins to rise- A fear I cannot turn away: Will you fade from my waking eyes? Will you slowly disappear someday? Will you leave me halfway through The journey we once called our own? Will I be left searching for you In endless nights, completely alone? In every dark and silent night, When uncertain footsteps lose their way, I feel your shadow slipping from sight, Like evening light be...

I have a heroine who visits me only in dreams, Changing with the wind, with every hour of light; At dawn she wears the pale gold of an eastern sky, Softened by the last breath of the passing monsoon. At noon her skin gathers sunlight from paddy fields, At dusk, sindoor burns gently across her brow; She becomes the final ember of the sinking sun, Then deepens into a moonlit river at night. Her loosened hair carries jasmine, earth, and sandalwood, And when she lets it fall, the wind forgets its way; Sometimes she arrives as a temple lamp trembling softly, Sometimes as a girl's laughter beneath June's first rain. No village owns her, yet every village knows her, She crosses coconut groves and narrow paddy bunds; She glides beside backwaters silvered by the moon, Riding a rainbow chariot through the mind's hidden roads. She is the woman my dreaming heart has fashioned- Rich without pride, beautiful without cruelty, Loving without ever learning the art of leaving, Forever gentle...

  Before the rifles came to clear the land, The Blue Ridge rose through veils of morning mist; Our feet knew every valley, stream, and strand, Each trail remembered every hand it kissed. The rivers held our stories in their flow, The winds carried the names our elders gave; Our words were leaves that whispered soft and low, Our language was the fire our ancestors saved. Sequoyah gave our living words a form, And letters bloomed like branches in the rain; We wrote our voices through the silence of the storm, So none could say our people lived in vain. Then soldiers came like shadows before dawn, With orders written colder than the stone; They drove us from the homes we had lived upon, And claimed the earth as though it were their own. The hearths still burned; the beds were left behind, The doors stood open to the empty air; A mother searched for children she could not find, While grief became the only thing to bear. Rising Fawn spoke words that would not bend, And justice once decl...