4Linegraphia-en

In  bustling Kottayam town ,the sun shines bright, Lived a lady clerk, with dreams taking flight.  Her name was Sree, her spirit so bold, In a world of letters, her stories unfold.  With a desktop full of files and papers, her day would begin, Sorting through documents, she wore a warm grin.  With ink-stained fingers, she held the quill tight, Crafting the future with each flick of light.  Oh, the tales that she told in the flickering glow, Of journeys untaken and places to go.  She balanced the numbers, the sums dancing clear, In the realm of the office, she conquered her fear.  With her bright kohl eyes, and a heart full of grace, Every task she embraced, each challenge a race.  Amidst ringing phones and the clock’s steady tick, She crafted her fate with her pen and PC, oh so quick.  Her colleagues admired the strength that she bore, As she fought through the chaos, always ready for more.  In meetings, she stood with a voice rich and s...

 In ancient lands where shadows play, A tale unfolds of night and day, Of lustful hearts and cruel desires, Burning bright like tempest fires.  In cities fair, where breezes hum, A gathering of men would come, With eyes like hawks and whispered schemes, Chasing fleeting, restless dreams.  I see. Don’t you see? These men of passion, bold and proud, Found solace in a yearning crowd, Yet deep within their hearts did swell, A hunger forged from lust’s cruel spell.  They sought the beauty in each face, A fleeting glance, a soft embrace, But what they craved was fierce and wild, To claim the heart of every child.  I see. Don’t you see? From marble temples, echoes rang, Of promises that sweetly sang, Yet in the darkness, truth was bare, For love was lost in longing’s snare.  I see. Don’t you see? With silken threads, they wove their games, Entwined in dreams that bore no names, But shadows lurked where none could see, The price of love — a shattered plea.  Th...

  In the quiet of your aerie, a truth resides, Where fledgling courage gathers, and where instinct guides. Let go the ground’s pull that clamors at your door, And find the strength you've always held before. You are the shadow that brightens up the prey, A watchful eye against the morning's gray, In winds so deep, where doubts and fears may sway, Your inner wing reveals the hidden grace. Little one, the sky is not a place you are given; it is a place you take. Ignore the chirping of smaller birds who would tell you to stay in the nest. Trust the fierce will in your heart, for it is your only true light. When the sun hides, it is your courage that becomes a beacon bold to guide you. Each passing moment holds a choice to make, A silent promise, for your own self’s sake. Believe in thermals unseen, in skies untold, And be the hunter of the story you unfold. With every beat, a flicker starts to grow, Illuminate the path that lies ahead, Though storms may brew and winds of change ma...

  From a gentle whisper, a faith takes root, Not from a hand that's heavy, a voice that's mute. Forced conversion's shadow, a bitter, cold rain, Washing away freedom, leaving only pain. "They walked before us, bold and bright, Leaders who turned darkness into light. We follow their paths, their steps we trace, But not all truths wear the same face. Believe, but let that flame be free, Not chains of forced identity. For what they fought for, day and night, Was not blind faith, but human right. Their way is not a script to keep, But seeds of thought, in silence deep. From faith can rise both saint and sword— It's love, not fear, that must be heard." A soul's true temple, a sacred, private space, Should not be stolen, twisted by time or place. A bribe of comfort, a promise of light, Is a cruel darkness, a starless night. The old ways crumble, a heritage lost, A silent bargain, what is the true cost? To change your heart's song, to deny your own mind, A pr...

  The eyes of Shigir Idol, bolted tight To plinth and time, behold no rising light. They scan not dawn, but haze and choking gray, The toxic shroud that will not blow away. This wasn't in the plan, the manifest— This poison, this slow death for the oppressed. The guns fell silent, but the smoke remains, In soil and breath, in children's veins. Not just the fallen lie in dust, But forests scorched and rivers rust. Oil coats the shoreline, thick and black, A silent war with no attack. I saw the old wars, grand and bloody things, Where fields were churned by men and splintered rings Of steel. The land was torn, a broken shell, But life, like weeds, would conquer where it fell. The trenches filled, the graves became a mound, And still, a peasant might have tilled the ground. The bombs carved more than battle scars— They dimmed the light of ancient stars. A tree that once knew morning dew Now drinks in chemicals, not truth. The bombs I knew would tear the flesh apart, But not the sk...

 They film the blast before the cry, A child erased beneath the sky. The lens stays still, the likes flood in— Another badge, another sin. They watch me hold my daughter’s hand, Or what remains in shattered sand. A thousand eyes across the sea— But none will raise a hand for me. A captioned corpse, a burning town— Each post a crown, each shot renown. Empathy worn like a filter’s hue, “We stand with…”—but for whom, and who? You used her eyes to feel more real, To prove you cry, to prove you feel. But did you ever kneel and see The way she curled inside of me? In ivory words, they wage their wars, On couches soft, behind closed doors. A flag emoji, retweeted pain, Then brunch, then memes, then war again. She trended once. Her limbs, her bow, But none recall her name by now. You shared her face. You scrolled her death. You sighed, then laughed, then took a breath. A ghost in pixels, then the void. The outrage felt, the grief deployed. The screen goes dark, the scroll goes cold, And al...

  In the cradle of dust where olive trees mourn, Where lullabies fade and dawn feels torn, Gaza lies shattered—its silence profound, Each breath a rebellion, each heartbeat unbound. Children of cinder once danced in the street, Now chase the echo of a missing beat. Mothers wear hunger like threadbare clothes, And dream of fields where the barley still grows. Salt once shimmered like stardust in palms— Harvested from sea, from sweat, from calms. Not just seasoning, not mere grain— But the crystal of labor, of joy and of strain. Forged over centuries, by hands grown old, Each flake a story silently told. Born from the sweat of a thousand years, From sun-baked brows and unshed tears. This salt—ancestral, pure, and proud— Gathered by toil, not given by cloud. It lined their tables, preserved their bread, The sacred result of the lives they led. But now the salt lies crushed in the sand, Ground under boots that don’t understand. Its luster dimmed beneath fury and fire, Erased by conques...