Fourlinegraphia

Sixteen days have passed in pain, Time moves slow like endless rain. Walls still stand, but feel so bare, Since I cannot find you there. Morning comes, but feels so weak, Your soft voice I still do seek. Used to wake with gentle call, Now there’s silence in it all. In the kitchen, still and cold, Lives the warmth the past once told. Old stone mortar waits for you, Like it knows what it must do. Pestle rests; it does not sing, Missing hands that life would bring. Pressure cooker, silent, still, Has not whistled by your will. Washing stone has lost its cry, Cloths lie still and left to dry. After beats your hands once gave, Now it rests, so cold, so grave. Tap has learned to not let flow; Water waits, but does not go. Like it knows you’re not around, So it holds its silent sound. Well rope hangs; it does not cry, Pulley still-no creak, no sigh. Every corner feels this loss; Silent hearts no words can cross. Pills and syrups, lined in rows, Swallowed all the healing hopes. Bot...

  The Architect of Scars **** ***** ***** ***** **** The tree does not become shade until a burning sun stands overhead. The stars do not become guides until the night surrenders to darkness. ****  The mountain does not boast of its height until the valley is cast in its shadow. The river does not sing of its strength until it meets the stone that would stop it. ****  We are built of what we have weathered; the glass is forged in the furnace, the diamond is born of the weight that the earth refused to lift. ****  Forgiveness is a word without a voice until the wrong has been done. Patience is a ghost in the hallway until the clock refuses to strike the hour. ****  We look for the sunrise not because dawn is beautiful, but because the cold has settled in our bones. We reach for the hand not because we are weak, but because the path has grown too narrow to walk alone. ****  So let the wind howl against the timber; it is only then the roots learn to grip. Let ...

I have heard defeat arrive not as thunder- but like a snake in dry grass, hissing through slander. / When they could not touch my thought, they reached for my skin, as crows peck at ripe fruit they could never grow. / My name was held to fire like thin gold over flame, tested not for truth but for how much pain it could carry. / I have seen honor hung on women like glass bangles on trembling wrists- bright as festival light, fragile as a lie repeated too long. / And when a man stood like a mountain against the storm of lesser minds, they did not move the mountain- they poisoned the river at its feet, naming his women as weakness. / How strange this old world is: shame circles women like vultures around harvest fields, while pride wears a man’s face but hides in a woman’s wound. / I have known insults that crawled like smoke under doors, sexual words flung like mud at a temple wall, character torn as dogs worry at burial cloth. / But I have learned- when they strike the body because the...

  "Sin begins the moment I abandon what I know is right.” *************** Sin begins the moment I turn away, Not in the fall, but in the sway. No sudden break, no loud descent, Just quiet shifts of small consent. *** A thought I soften, truth I bend, A line I move to ease the end. No witness there, no voice to warn, Yet something fragile comes undone. *** I tell myself it matters less, That ease is peace, that less is rest. But deep within, a knowing stays, Unmoved by all my careful plays. *** For right was never far or dim, It lived within, it spoke within. And every step I chose to stray, Was one I felt-but turned away. *** Yet even here, the path remains, Not lost to time, nor bound in chains. For what I left, I still can find, If I turn back with steady mind. *** Not through shame, nor sudden grace, But quiet truth I choose to face. For sin may start where I depart, But so does healing- in the heart.

  From shores of dreams where I was born, I rose with hope each silent morn. Our past once burned in gunpowder’s flame, Our ancestors lost to plunder and pain. Their struggles live within my soul, To build anew, to make us whole. Through trials, doubt, and heavy gloom, I carved my path-a sonic boom. I rise for people, land, and sky, With strength that will not fade or die. From humblest ground, I take my stand, A force to guard my motherland. Be watchful now, and understand- I’m not a toy at someone’s hand. With science, will, and purpose true, I stand for peace, for me and you. For when we’re strong, no war need come, Peace echoes louder than the drum. And in my heart, my dreams still bloom I rise on wings of sonic boom.

Money is the ruler; pen and pencil merely draw the lines. Yet money can erase every scale, while our boxes stay empty. Money, you are like a wheel, I move in you, bound by feel. Without you, I fade to none, Like a shadow without sun. Money, why you love me not? I am poor, by fate forgot. I write dreams in silent night, Yet earn nothing from my light. In rich halls your bright voice rings, Crowns are bought like common things. In poor streets your absence cries, Hope grows thin and slowly dies. I am just a poet bare, With empty hands and heavy care. Words I weave like threads of gold, Yet my hunger stays untold. We both spin like leaves in air, Turned by time with silent care. Some rise high on golden spokes, Some are crushed beneath your yokes. Names and ranks the world assigns, Measured all in coins and signs. Man is weighed by what he owns, Not by heart or silent groans. Still I ask beneath the sky, Must a dreamer live and die? Is my worth in coins alone, Or in seeds of thought I...