Fourlinegraphia

In silent ink, eternity is spun, A voice that whispers when all is gone. Through fleeting shadows, words remain- A light that guides us through joy and pain.   ***************** Letters endure where fleeting voices fade, In poetry, their living breath is found. From silent thoughts, in careful lines they're made, And shape the truth that echoes all around. *** The pen, a sword of ink and quiet fire, Through poetry, it carves what must be known. It lifts the weak, it kindles lost desire, And gives a voice to hearts once left alone. *** In letters born, the dreams of freedom rise, Through poetry, they reach the open air. It walks with those in poverty and cries, Yet stands with wealth that glitters unaware. *** It sings of women,strength in every line, A grace that time and struggle can't erase. Through every verse, their silent powers shine, In poetry, they claim their rightful place. *** Each letter holds both tenderness and pain, In poetry, all human truths are cast. Kindness...

In temple fire, I rose beyond my name, My colors burned,red rage, white hush, black past. Bare feet on stone, I climbed through chants and smoke, Each drumbeat shaped a god from fragile bone. My skin became a map of hidden truths, A painted lie the faithful learned to trust. I wore their faith like armor made of flame, While doubt lay waiting, breathing under ash. Each step I climbed was built from silent need, From hunger sharpened by a world denied. I rose, Kaliyattakkaran  in their eyes- No longer man, but something they could fear. Crowned high in fire and woven threads of awe, I stood where questions perished into praise. They bowed as if my silence carried truth, While pride and faith grew tangled in my chest. At last I stepped into the living flame, Not as a man, but longing turned to light. I felt myself dissolve in something vast- The fire and I were no longer apart. In that bright union, doubt began to stir, A whisper threading through the sacred heat. For even gods, when...

From distant gaze, you shine with radiant grace, Like dawn that gilds the edges of the sky. Your tender smile enchants the longing heart, And draws us close, as tides obey the moon. But standing near, your laughter splits the air, A thunder crack that shatters sacred calm. Revealed beneath,your teeth are stained with night, As though the dark itself has learned to bleed. Within your charm, a silent serpent coils, Its venom masked in honeyed, gentle words. Your voice, like fire in sacred scripture cast, Still lures the lost like moths unto their end. Desire burns in you, a restless flame, And war resounds within your beating pulse. A beauty fierce, yet cloaked in false divine, A storm disguised within a house of prayer. Yet I have seen beyond your shining veil, A truth no shadow dares to hide for long. I bear a strength, a quiet binding force, To break your hold and strip your borrowed light. For every soul you crushed beneath your will, For every cry that vanished into dust, I draw a c...

  “Peace is often not genuine calm or harmony. It is a kind of numbness or illusion created after violence, pain, and sacrifice.” ********************* What we call “peace” is not pure - it is something fermented from suffering. Sacred words are placed in vessels, mixed with human blood, burned, buried, dissolved, turned into something else  and when we consume it, the numbness we feel is what we name as peace. >>> The world can cut and bleed, and peace from bitter seeds grows, In quiet after dreams, from shadows and from screams it flows. *** A sorrow steeped so slow in wounds we hide and vows we keep, Words once so pure and bright now stained in endless nights run deep. *** Sacred words rest in vessels, truths we cannot deny still, Mixed with what life has torn, with weary hearts it bends our will. *** Burned and broken away, then buried deep in hidden ground, Lost within time itself, where silent pain will not be found. *** At last it turns anew, from all the trial...

  I used to have a room with corners that remembered me. Walls that heldthe warmth of names, a window where the sun arrived gently- like it knew me. Now, the sky is my ceiling,wide, careless, never the same twice. The pavement does not keep memories- only footsteps that forget me as soon as they pass. I build my “room” out of shadows at night, a doorway from cardboard and hope, a roof from borrowed sleep. People walk by like closed doors. Their eyes- windows that never open. But still, in the quiet between noises, I gather small things: a kind glance, a half-smile, the warmth of tea held too long in my hands. And somehow, in this endless nowhere, I carry a room inside me fragile, invisible, but mine. Not made of walls,but of what I refuse to lose.   "Though walls may fade and corners blur,   the heart's own room remains pure, sure,   crafted not of stone or wood, but grace-  an everlasting, sacred place."         

  I was a seed at dawn-my life began, Beneath the soil where quiet hope once ran. I came, I saw, I breathed the silent air, A fleeting whisper,here, then nowhere. >>> With every sun, I rose and learned to grow, I felt the winds and rains I’d come to know. The world I saw was brief and full of light, A fragile dance that faded into night. >>> My life moved on in ways I’d never know, Like grains of dust through open hands it’d flow. In shadowed steps, I drifted out of sight, A silent rhythm fading into night. >>> I came and went like mist at break of day, My colors dimmed, my edges slipped away. A fleeting breath, a form that could not stay, A shadow lost along the quiet way. >>> I turned within and from the world I hid, A voiceless echo of the life I lived. A memory soft lingering in shade, A distant trace that slowly starts to fade. >>> Yet in my loss, a quiet grace I find, A gentle peace that lingers in the mind. For as I fade, I feel a...