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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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The Lion and His Friends

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In the jungle, big and wide, Lived a lion full of pride. With a roar so loud and strong, He sang the jungle’s morning song. An elephant stomped by the trees, Swinging his trunk in the breeze. A monkey jumped from vine to vine, Chattering, “This jungle’s mine!” A zebra ran with stripes so bright, A giraffe stood tall in golden light. A parrot squawked from up above, Filling the air with songs of love. The lion smiled and softly said, “No need to fear or run in dread. We share the jungle, you and me, Together we live happily!” So in the jungle, day and night, All the animals felt just right. With friends to laugh and play along, Their home was full of joy and song.        #poetry #poet #poem #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #poetsofinstagram #instapoetry #writersoffacebook #creativewriting #spokenword #heartfelt #soulwords #deepthoughts #bleedingink #emotionalpoetry   #loveandloss #silentfeelings     #moonpoetry #rainpoems #naturepoet #fourlinegr...
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Stillness

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  We walk this fragile road as one, Beneath the moon, beneath the sun. We rise with hope, we break, we mend, Begin again where stories end. Life -a fleeting, trembling flame, Never steady, never same. Time, the magician, shapes and bends, Turning strangers into friends. Sometimes we whisper, what a fate, Sometimes, how did we escape? Sometimes silence is our prayer, Learning peace is already there. So chase not every ghostly call, Nor fear the shadows as they fall. Turn inward, where the quiet light Burns beyond both dark and bright. Sit in stillness, let thoughts sleep, Where the soul listens deep. No victory there, no losing fight, Only peace - gentle and bright. And when the quiet visitors depart, They leave their echoes in the heart. For in that silence, calm and true, Lives the love that carries you.
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Invisible Visitors

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 Shadows in  soft, the quiet spirits move, Unseen companions in the life I choose. No footsteps fall, no knocking at my door - They come, they stay, then vanish once more. They walk beside me, they walk within, Invisible threads beneath my skin. Some arrive wearing laughter’s light, Some bring sorrow that darkens my night. Love comes softly, a gentle flame, Calling my heart by its secret name. Yet grief follows, slow and true, Teaching me what only loss can do. I call them fate, or luck, or chance, Miracles caught in a passing glance. Actors upon my timeless stage, Changing masks from age to age. My desires burn with restless fire, Pulling my soul ever higher and higher. I chase my dreams through endless skies, Not seeing the truth before my eyes. Joy and sorrow, woven tight, Threads of shadow stitched with light. They lift me high, then let me fall, Reminding me I am small after all. Life - a fragile, borrowed breath, A silent dance with time and death. When I hold too firmly...
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When the Summer Burns

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  No tears remain for me to weep; my eyes lie barren, cracked and dry. In shadows where no rain is born, even the skies forget to cry. A silent ache, a hollow song, the heart grows tired, cold and worn; hope feels distant, stretched too long, like fields that wait for seasons gone. The endless summer, harsh and vast, presses heavy on breath and bone; veins that once with life ran fast now shrink in silence, all alone. The wandering birds of my soul, once fearless, rising wild and free, bury their heads in dust and soil, lost to a restless memory. My mind burns hot with every thought, a pyre of sorrow, fierce and deep; battles fought where none are fought, a weary heart denied its sleep. No gentle wind, no warm embrace, only echoes from before- forgotten light, a fading trace, soft footsteps at a closing door. Yet somewhere in this suffocating night a fragile spark refuses doom; a whispered promise, small but bright, a seed awakening in gloom. For even when the world feels dry, when...
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