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The Last Honest Poem

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  I wander through the rain-washed streets of city a half-starved poet carrying a sky full of unwritten songs. My pockets hold nothing but crumpled pages, yet within them sleep entire worlds. The city rushes past me. Men in pressed suits discuss success, their voices shining brighter than their hearts. Publishers weigh words against profit, friends measure worth by position and wealth, and even love is auctioned to the highest bidder. I offer them my poetry. They ask who has praised it. I offer them my soul. They ask what it is worth. So I walk alone. At tea stalls, railway platforms, crowded markets, I watch people worship names instead of truth, statues instead of living hearts, appearances instead of humanity. The world loves mirrors. I carry windows. Yet among those whom society calls fallen, I discover compassion. A nightingale abandoned by respectability reads my verses as if they were sacred scripture. She sees not my torn shirt, nor the dust upon my feet, but the fire I hid...
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The Unseen Poet

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He walked with torn dreams on his shoulders, A poet beneath a merciless sky. His words were richer than kingdoms, Yet no one stopped to ask him why. The merchants traded praise for profit, The scholars bowed before a name; Truth stood hungry at their doorstep, While falsehood dined in halls of fame. His verses flowed like living rivers, But the world preferred a gilded lie. They saw his poverty and weakness, Not the stars burning in his eye. A night woman cast aside by society Found beauty where others found none; She heard the ache within his silence, And loved the man he had become. The preachers spoke of virtue loudly, The patriots sang their noble song; Yet behind their masks of honor Lived the greed they hid so long. They crowned him only when he vanished, When death had wrapped him in its light; For living souls are often ignored, While ghosts are praised as pure and bright. But the poet would not sell his conscience, Nor bend his heart to fashion's call. He chose the road of...
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Why not me?

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  I rose where mountain rivers learned to sing, A wild-born child beneath the forest's wing. The dawn poured liquid gold upon my face, The earth received my bare and gentle grace. ** The jasmine climbed the shoulders of the stone, The wandering wind declared that I was own. The clouds crossed kingdoms, fearless, vast, and free- Yet freedom was a forbidden word for me. ** The river chose its pathway to the sea; Why was that sacred choice denied to me? The eagle stitched its shadow through the sky; Why must a woman's dearest visions die? ** The moon lays silver on the beggar's roof, Yet I must spend my life providing proof. The mountain stands alone and earns your praise; A woman stands alone and bears disgrace. ** I heard old customs whisper through the years: "Submit your dreams. Obedience conquers fears." Like roots of iron underneath the ground, Their unseen chains encircled all around. ** The tragedy was never in my fall, But in the minds that built the prison ...
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My Son Among the Stars

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  Each evening, as the amber daylight fades And twilight wraps the lonely hills in gray, I lift my eyes toward heaven’s quiet shores To search the silver stars that light the way. **** For somewhere in that vast, uncharted sea, Beyond the reach of earthly grief and pain, My son’s sweet soul has found its gentle rest, Far past the heavy clouds and biting rain. **** I still recall the tenderness he wore While cradling his own beloved child; The warmth within his soft, devoted eyes Outshone the midday sun, so bright and mild. **** His laughter used to fill our humble home Like springtime birds among the budded trees- A vibrant melody that danced through life As softly as a breathless summer breeze. **** But speed arrived, a sudden, ruthless storm, With roaring wheels and reckless, blinding flight; A racing shadow on a fractured road, A flash of steel-then vanished from my sight. **** I learned that speed can paralyze the heart, A dark deception masquerading as light; For light reveals...
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The Frozen Spring

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  She turned from an offered rose one dawn, Its crimson promise left undone; And where its tender fragrance fell, A silent kingdom lost its spell. *** Summer unfolded its golden wings, Yet dust gathered on forgotten things. Letters slept in a Himalayan cedar chest, Pressed with petals and unrest; Their fading words, like tides withdrawn, Left only traces they had worn. *** Beneath an autumn lamp there stood A weathered bench of aging wood. The wind rehearsed old melodies Among the darkening apple trees; Where laughter might have lingered long, Only shadows learned the song. *** One evening, under amber skies, She watched a pair of swallows rise. Twig by twig, their fragile art Wove a shelter, heart to heart. The nest beneath the cottage eave Held all she could not yet believe. *** Across the fields young children run and played, Untroubled by the lengthening shade. The earth spoke softly through the years Of love abandoned to its fears; And every leaf that touched the ground Whispe...
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My unwanted Euphoria

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  I learned to smile with storms in my chest, to wear sunlight over a sky that never rested. Every morning I stitched myself together, thread by thread, secret by secret. // There were nights when the silence grew teeth, and memories wandered through my veins like fire. I chased escapes disguised as freedom, mistaking falling for flying. // Then came moments-brief and blinding- when the world glowed beneath my skin. Streetlights became constellations, and my heartbeat sang louder than reason. // I called it happiness. I called it being alive. I called it everything I had been searching for. // But euphoria is a beautiful liar; it paints gold over broken walls, turns echoes into symphonies, and convinces me I am endless. // Still, somewhere between the highs and the wreckage, I found a quieter truth: I am not the rush, not the fall, not the ghosts that follow me home. // I am the one who survives them. // And though my hands still tremble when tomorrow knocks at the door, I walk tow...
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Create

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Seed the thought, a treasure sown, Like a tiny star not yet fully known. Plant the seed, let courage start, Shape the clay, and build the art. Mold the clay with patient hands, Like a river shaping distant lands. Set it true in mind and heart, For every masterpiece must start. A spark is struck, the flame burns bright, Like dawn that gently conquers night. To make, to mold, to shape it right, Turn dreams to wings and take to flight. Yesterday you created, today create still, Like a mountain rising through strength and will. Each small step, though slow it seems, Builds the bridge between goals and dreams. The seed becomes a flowering tree, The clay becomes what eyes can see. The spark becomes a guiding light, For those who dare and those who fight. So sow your thoughts and play your part, With steadfast hands and a hopeful heart. Create your path, your song, your way, And shape a brighter world each day. 
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