Fourlinegraphia

  In thee, sweet maiden, nature’s grace doth dwell; Thy beauty blooms like dawn’s first rising swell. The rain that whispers secrets to the lea, And clouds that drift in silent harmony. The gentle breeze that wakes the trembling trees Breathes forth thy softness, carried on the breeze. Spring’s budding flowers, dressed in radiant hue, Reflect thy purity and love anew. Azure-blue hills and snow-crowned peaks on high Stand as proud watchmen of the boundless sky. Yet in the sunset’s fading crimson light, My heart for thee is kindled with delight. In every leaf, in every breath I take, Thy presence, like the morn, doth softly wake; For in the symphony of earth and sky, Thou art my love, my muse, my lullaby. Beneath the sun’s warm, ever-golden gaze, Thy visage glows through all my fleeting days. As rivers weave their ancient, ceaseless song, Thy gentle grace moves quietly along. The murm’ring leaves in forests deep and old Guard secrets that the ancients once foretold, Like thy soft voi...

  Let me tell you one thing: You may strive with all your might, yet the world will not bend to your will. So do not waste your breath trying to change its course. Walk instead in harmony with its rhythm, and you will witness your own world transforming. For in the silent waltz of time and tide, we dream of turning the great wheel aside. But change arrives on a whisper’s sigh, born in the fearless hearts that dare to fly. Move with the rhythm-tender and true; let your spirit drift through the boundless blue. For when you surrender to life’s gentle stream, the world reshapes itself within your dream.

Crowded streets where in  shadows hide, I see the men who boast with pride- Their words are strong, their hands are quick, Yet hearts betray them, fragile, sick. A mask of power, charm, or might, Conceals the fear they cannot fight. They stumble, falter, chase the vain, And cling to pride to hide the pain. They build their towers, reach for fame, Yet crumble when they hear their name. Promises break like fragile glass, And honesty is left to pass. Greed, ego, vanity’s cruel tide, Obscures the strength they keep inside. You call it courage, I call it blind, A man undone by his own mind. And yet, I see beneath it all, A heart that trembles, scared to fall. Not power, fame, or hollow praise, But love and truth can mend their ways. So listen, men, if you dare to hear- Drop the masks, confront your fear. Within your weakness lies your might, If you embrace the dark with light. Stop hiding, stop pretending strong, Face the truth you’ve feared so long. Frailty is human, not a shame- But d...

  "You are not a man of wealth, yet the poet within you thunders like a cannon.Your words sparking ideas and shattering silence for the world. With only a pen, a bottle of ink, and a few scraps of paper, you write from wounds, memories, and the quiet ache life has carved into you. Though poverty and loneliness press heavily upon you, you remain unbroken;a soldier of truth whose breath burns like a torch for the good of society. From your pain grows wisdom, and from your silence rises a storm that speaks for all who cannot speak for themselves." Your Fourlinegraphia  In shadows deep, where silence dwells, he forges words like ringing bells- not wealth in gold, nor riches piled high, but in the power of his honest cry.   His ink is born from restless nights, stained with tears and fleeting lights, each letter a battle, each line a scar, a testament to who and what we are.   Blood-soaked memories flow like streams, carving valleys from his dreams- a landscape ...

When friendships drift like autumn leaves, Not lost-just drifting free, We find the gentle wind that weaves A different destiny. Some friendships fade like evening light, Not broken-simply grown; A glow that once burned warm and bright Now softens into bone. What once was filled with shared delight, A spark that lit our days, Begins to dim into the night- A quiet, tender haze. We change, we shed our former skins, We learn what we can bear; And things we once let settle in Feel heavier to wear. We grow, we find our truer pace, Our paths diverge anew, Yet in the stillness of this space A heart remains true. No blame, no sorrow’s heavy weight, Just tender, honest grace; Each soul must sometimes separate To find its rightful place. The laughter that once filled the air, The tears we trusted then, Transform into a whispered prayer Of love we hold again. The jokes that used to make us laugh, The silence we could stand, Now echo like a distant past We no longer command. We shed old skins, emb...

I thought I knew you- your tears like quiet rivers, your joys hidden in the hush of your smile, the music trembling softly in your silence. I believed I could read the sorrow you carried behind your eyes, secrets folded like night’s embrace, a melody lost before dawn’s first light. In the stillness of morning’s glow, I searched for words you never spoke- promises shattered, yet somehow intact, reflections of fears I couldn’t reach, a thousand uncried tears glinting in a gaze both haunted and pure. But beneath your calm exterior, lay a story you refused to tell- a battered, scarred heart, a silent scream trapped within its shell. I thought I knew you- thought I touched the chambers you kept hidden from the world. How foolish I was- for in your eyes, I found delight in my fragile love, my ache, my devotion- mere shadows passing in your storm. Were you just another empty man, a gentle liar shaped from cowardice- those who spark love, knowing they can never truly return it? Now...

  Upon a reed of dawn’s first light he sits, the poet dragonfly- a whisper of fleeting seasons, a messenger of dreams spun high across the sky. His tail, a sharpened silver nib dipped in the ink of endless blue, writes soft verses on the wandering winds where words take flight and fade anew. His wings, full of color, a kaleidoscope of drifting thoughts, shimmer with wandering hues- each flutter a rhyme, each glimmer a stanza born in the warm breath of summer. His head, round as a meditative moon, rests in luminous stillness; and his eyes-homes to a thousand ideas hold galaxies that swirl and fuse into tiny constellations of wonder. He dances on the breeze’s gentle thread, a ballet of grace and light, drawing invisible letters in the air for children and passersby to see. Yet when he leaps and loops like a scribe writing alphabets across the sky, children often rush toward him- eager hands reaching, feet pounding the earth, wanting to catch the marvel in motion. Some, not knowing th...

In this age of scrolling thumbs, I watch my privacy run while curiosity comes. Once, I peeked through window blinds- Now I wander through other people's “Private” timelines. I move like a silent shadow in the glow of screens, Hiding behind digital masks and recycled memes. My voice drifts through this virtual haze, Lost inside a web of endless gaze. Sometimes I slip into masks made of air- One of many dark-mode ninjas out there. I slide through cracks in the cyber night, Chasing whispers, avoiding the light. Tap, zoom, screenshot-oh, what a sport. All for a story that’s three seconds short. A fleeting moment, a viral spark, Filed away in the archives of my digital dark. I chase the thrill-yes, that secret high- A hunger even algorithms amplify. In every endless scroll, I drown my fears, Trading bits of myself for borrowed cheers. And when I’m caught, I laugh and say, “Oh, it’s just research!”-sure, okay. But deep beneath the little lies, I know I’m just another ghost in disguise. B...

  From temple court I am Grandma of Ficus benghalensis  and today, my child, I cry. My sari-like roots once swung with laughter, small hands curled around them like bangles of joy. But now, only the wind touches me- and even the wind feels like a stranger. Children once played in my shade, dancing circles around my trunk, pressing their faces against my bark as if listening to an ancient story. Their giggles lived in my branches, their memories wrapped around my roots. But where are they now? What path stole them away from me? Birds once perched on every limb- sparrows, myna, parrots- pecking at my figs, singing dawn into my leaves. Now only bats visit in passing, their shadows slipping across my tired skin like fleeting ghosts of a world fading. Even they do not stay. Have generations disappeared? Are the stories of the forest unraveling? My roots thirst for the waters that once embraced them. I reach deep, deeper than memory, but the streams that nursed me have withered into...

  A journey etched in shadows and light, A path where scars whisper stories of fight. Yet in each stumble, in every fall, The soul awakens, learns to stand tall.   Choose the thorny trail, the rugged way, Where courage blooms amidst the fray. For joy is born in raw endurance’s flame, Revealing truths that no one else can claim.   Walk alone, yet never truly apart, For destiny weaves a common heart. In silent horizons, our spirits align, Meeting again where hearts divine.   The road is long, with twists and turns, Where every loss and pain burns. But from the ashes of despair’s night, Rises a dawn of inner light.   Let the wilderness sharpen your courage, Make your spirit fierce, unbreakable, and strong. For every step through dark and thorn, Carves a strength that lingers long.   Do not be fooled by the crimson’s guise, For scars are stories, not disguise. They speak of battles fought within, Of resilience born from deep within....

  I set out seeking meaning Hidden in small, slender lines- Simple whispers folded in silence, Soft truths waiting to be heard. But as I leaned closer to those tiny sparks, Larger lines rose behind them- Patient, shadowed, expansive- Revealing worlds I had not seen. And when I chased the vastness Of those grander, weightier truths, The quiet honesty of the smaller ones Opened themselves to me again- A woven fabric of light and shade, Each thread completing the other. So I wandered through a realm Of delicate curves and sweeping spans, Little lines and long lines Marking the map of existence. Step by step, I walked their sacred path, Searching for the meaning of life In every rise of ink, In every hush of space between. And somewhere along this pilgrimage of lines, I found you. In that moment, all searching softened. I no longer wished to decipher you, To unravel your depths Or frame your essence into words. For in your presence, meanings melt, Leaving only the truth of being. Now I...

  A love so silent, long endured, A yearning in the shadows stirred. No words, no touch, just silent ache, A longing that the soul did make. In darkness, she lost her way, Her heart unraveling day by day. Until another reached her side, A gentle branch, a blooming tide. He made her blossom, breathe anew, A life in colors, vibrant, true. And though her heart still holds a vow, She follows where her hopes allow. A woman scarred by love’s own pain, Finds refuge in the love’s refrain. Not to win, but to survive, A fragile hope keeps her alive. Her love remains, steadfast, deep, A promise that she’s sworn to keep. For her, love is not mere sound, But the silent strength she’s found. And when he holds her shattered mind, She feels, in him, her peace to find. To live, to love, to breathe, to be, A testament to eternity. If wrong it is, then let it be, For love’s own truth is free to see.

  I am the quiet fold of a woman’s embrace, the warm curve where the world first opens its eyes. From the foothills of my body, life climbs upward- every birth rising through me like dawn breaking over a mountain. I am the soft garden where lips learn their first language, the river that quenches the earliest thirst, the cradle where innocence curls in sleep, the harbor where trembling souls find their shore. Across me flow lullabies older than memory. In my tenderness hide the unshed tears of mothers who carried more than the world will ever know. I hold stories in my curves- dreams, longings, names whispered through centuries. Who has not traveled across me? Who has not rested in my shelter? In every gaze, every touch, every fleeting hunger, I see the reflection of the human race- a flame of need, a spark of hope, a fire that keeps life breathing. Sometimes I wander the world misread, misunderstood, like a traveler carrying a truth too ancient to explain. Yet I remain what I have...

  Life begins in trembling cries, a tiny spark in gentle hands; a tender face with sleepy eyes, a world it barely understands. Life is warmth upon a cheek, a lullaby of soft embrace; a mother’s touch, a promise meek, a fragile bloom in sacred space. Life learns slowly how to stand, to stumble first, then walk with grace; guided by a loving hand, it finds its rhythm, finds its pace. Life soon learns the art of giving- a heart that opens, breaks, and mends; for love is not just made for living, but shared in moments without end. Life climbs hills of hope and doubt, slips through valleys deep and wide; it wanders, searching in and out, a restless wind it cannot hide. Life flows onward like a stream- spreading far through dusk and dawn; shifting shapes as though a dream, yet always moving, never gone. Life runs wild in every direction, guided by desire’s unseen flame; it hums its tunes in imperfection, seeking joy without a name. Life burns beneath the noonday sun, endures the heat, th...

  I hear a whisper in the dawn, a silent chime within my soul- a voice so faint, yet carrying on, a call that makes the broken whole. When the bell begins to speak, its echo travels far and wide; it touches hearts both strong and weak, and stirs the quietness inside. It tells of hope amid my fears, a gentle nudge to rise again; reminding me through fleeting tears that loss and love are not in vain. Sometimes it rings in tender grace, a warning in my restless mind- to cherish every fleeting face, and leave no love behind. For every life is bound to life, in joy, in sorrow, in the night; the world is stitched through peace and strife with threads unseen, yet holding tight. I feel it in the pulse of days, a rhythm steady, soft, and true- a call that guides me through the maze to be both brave and gentle too. So when that distant bell resounds, I listen with my heart’s full might- for in its trembling, timeless rounds, I’m part of something vast and bright.   And though it ne...

  Born from the chaos where silence screams, A poem forged in pain and dreams, Madness echoes, yet it burns- A fire of love that never turns. I stand beside the broken, the still, Melt into struggles, bend but don’t break, An ornament for those who’ve lost their way, A silent strength they cannot fake. Like a mother’s warmth in the coldest night, Holding fears, igniting light- Walking with the trembling soul, Making broken pieces whole. This is the voice of the woman who breathes life- Who teaches love’s the blood that runs deep, Colors relationships, paints the truth, Extends a soft finger;shatters the cage of gloom. My poem is nectar for the misguided, A torch for the lost, a promise unbroken- Guided by duty, fueled by compassion, A steady flame of unwavering passion. It believes in the good beneath the scars, Stands tall, sincere;resistant to the dark, Always dear, unshakably true- My love, my eternal, unbreakable you.

  Feminism is the dawn after a long, silent night- a gentle light slipping through old cracks, quiet yet unstoppable. It is not a storm raging against the trees, but a breeze whispering through their leaves, reminding them of their strength, their right to stand. Women are rivers once chained to mountains- their waters held back, aching to flow free. When they unbind themselves, their currents carve new paths- not to drown, but to nourish the land. Her voice is a bell ringing in a sleeping town- soft at first, then impossible to ignore. Her resolve is a flame that refuses to be smothered- illuminating the darkest corners of the world. Her steps are roots breaking through concrete- patient, persistent, unstoppable. And when she rises, it is the sun lifting the morning fog- revealing what was always there, waiting to be seen. Feminism is the homecoming of a long-lost child- returning to the place that has always been hers. And as she climbs, the old ladder creaks and breaks- not beca...

  Today we honor the sacred scroll, Not just ink and paper, but a living soul. A testament born from our dreams and strife, Carved through struggles, the price of life. A silent vow that binds us tight- Justice for all, freedom shining bright, Equality for all, a guiding star, Steadfast and eternal, near or far. Times may shift like drifting sands, Yet rooted firm, our steadfast hands Guard the truths we hold so dear, In our hearts, in those we revere. Today we stand, proud and tall, Remembering who we are-one and all. From the soil of Bharat’s ancient land, Flow the stories we hold in hand. Our duty clear, our spirits high, To nurture, to cherish, and never deny Her culture’s grace, her timeless song, Passing her light, forever strong. Whatever our beliefs, we take pride, In her heritage and values that guide. For Bharat’s future, for her soul’s glow, Let us keep her legacy alive and grow. A beacon for generations yet to come, United in spirit, forever one.

  Beneath the tender coconut palm shade, Where childhood’s laughter softly played, On earthen floors our stories grew, In innocence’s quiet, golden hue. With coconut-leaf spectacles we gazed, At tiny worlds our hands had raised A coconut leaf fan spun by the wandering breeze, Simple joys that lived with ease.  Do you remember, dearest friend, That little palm-leaf hut where time would bend? Where a make-believe wedding blossomed one day, And our young hearts learned their first gentle sway? You came in fruit-scented, playful grace, Soft light dancing across your face. You leaned close, a warm embrace Two dreams woven in a secret place. A tender kiss, sweet and small, Your little lips brushing like a call; Etched forever in memory’s space, A moment time could never erase. Though years have drifted far from then, Your fragrance stirs my heart again Awakening echoes of a tender past, A childhood lost, yet forever to last. The shade of coconut leaves still weaves The music of thos...

  I trace my life in constellations, delicate lines drawn between my hopes, believing the sky will honor every careful form I create. Yet sometimes the stars shift, and my plans shatter like fragile glass- cutting deep, leaving me small, unsure in my own grasp. But even in darkness there exists an unseen light- a quiet glow that bends the night gently, almost secretly, guiding me toward kindness beyond what I ever dared to dream. This light doesn’t shout or gleam; it hums softly behind my fears, leading me when I feel lost, when everything seems uncertain. And as my road unwinds and changes, the light moves with me- reshaping paths, redefining destinations, making space for something infinitely better than what I once demanded. So I keep walking. I trust the unseen glow beside me. Though my map may shift, the light remains- guiding me home.

  In this spinning, tumbling universe, I know my time is nothing more than a firefly’s trembling flicker- a brief shimmer before the dark folds in. Yet here I am, still reaching, still burning with impossible wanting. Though I’ve seen how everything overturns, how dreams flare and fall apart, something in me keeps leaping like a moth that cannot forget the flame. Maybe my heart was born with this ache- this stubborn hunger for light, even when shadows wait behind it. Still I dance my small dance of hope in the middle of all this cosmic chaos. I chase the fleeting sparks that appear, knowing well they may scorch, yet yearning for them with all I am. Perhaps this risking is my truth- fragile, foolish, fierce. For in these blinking moments of existence, I feel life whisper its only command: to desire, to reach, to love- for what else remains for a soul like mine caught between darkness and the fire I cannot resist?

  Every dawn births a poet’s song- a canvas of dreams, both right and wrong; for every moment gives the world a poet, an artist, a criminal unfurled. And in you, I tried to quiet the crooked voices of the riot, to find the heart of mercy kept, a love that lived where silence slept. But each time I turned to see, you stood where I could never be- not here, not now, not in my sight, but at the edge of the turning night. As the world keeps spinning fast, I follow trails the winds have cast; you stand upon the shifting sand, beyond the grasp of reaching hands. I chase again-yet once I’m near, you move to where the skies are clear; you wait beside the ocean’s line, then climb the heavens, so divine. With ink that fades but will not fall, I write a letter, thin and small- a final proof that I have tried, that I have searched, that I have cried. Keep it safe, my love, my guide, as memory’s flame the years cannot hide; a monument of hope unmet, of love remembered-not regret.