My Dawn, My Dusk

-


 Wherever you are, my dear,

I hope your skies are bright,

For knowing you are safe and well

Fills my heart with gentle light.

In quiet moments, I hear your name,

A whisper drifting on the breeze,

A flicker in my soul’s soft flame

That sets my restless heart at ease.


Though you have gone far from me

And seasons turn and fade away,

Your presence lingers in my heart

Every night and every day.

Miles may stretch like endless skies,

Yet your memory remains my guide,

A beacon shining through the dark,

Forever walking by my side.


Not a single dawn arrives

Without a thought of you,

A silent echo in my eyes,

A love both constant and true.

So till we meet again someday,

Know my heart will never stray-

For even after time moves on,

You are my dawn, my dusk, my every day.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Quiet Collapse

-
Image
We burned like stars in distant skies, Where longing made the silence wise. Each word, a spark — each pause, a prayer, We loved like those who couldn’t dare. But pockets strained, and dreams grew thin, And hunger knocked its way within. The rent unpaid, the hope on lease, Our kisses bought a moment's peace. No ledger kept, no figures faced, Just silent hope, silently erased. The burden heavy, held by none, Until the battle was unwon. You stayed, I stayed — not out of choice, But debt had dimmed our inner voice. No fights, no flames, just unpaid dues, And love became a thing we’d lose. No iron bound these tired hands, But promises and small demands. The freedom sold to bills and bread, The fire cold, the laughter dead. We shared a bed of silent grief, Two captives praying for relief. Each “I love you” a practiced line, To mask the fear, to buy us time. In half a Jupiter year or so, The passion ceased to ebb or grow. We stayed like ghosts in once-warm rooms, Where flowers...
Read more

She Carries the Sky

-
Image
  She walks with grace, a pot on her head, Through dust and dawn, where the rivers have fled. Each morning paints the eastern sky in fire, As worn feet trace a path fueled by desire. Her footsteps mark the rhythm of rain, That never came — yet comes again, a ghost on thirsty ground, A yearning whisper, a persistent sound. The scent of dry earth rises with the sun, A daily cycle, endlessly begun. Beneath her feet, the earth remembers, Stone-cut wells and ancient embers. She treads on stories, etched in rock and time, Of seasons generous, in their vibrant prime. Tanks and steps, carved deep and wide, Where kings once caught the monsoon's tide, Reflecting skies, a silver, fleeting gleam, Now dusty hollows, a half-forgotten dream. The sun bakes hard, the air hangs hot and still, But in her spirit, an unbroken will. The clouds once bowed to temple spires, To terraced hills and village choirs. They heard the prayers, the songs of grateful plea, And poured their bounty, wild and rich and ...
Read more

The Lament of Unseen Sorrows

-
Image
Upon the silent edge I found her grace, No pallid shroud, nor clanking of a chain, But lullabies enwoven in her face, And ancient sorrow folded in her pain. She spake, "I am the shade of what untold, The grief unchristened, by the world unnamed. 'Postpartum,' they did call it, swift and cold, As if mere time such anguish had contained." No chilling draft, no whisper on the air, Yet felt I then the burden of her sight. She told of children, vanished past compare, Not lost to earth, but cradled from the light. For strangled dreams, ere breath their being drew, And joy, in infancy, by hands unseen, Were offerings given, bitter, stark, and true, The death of futures, where no light had been. "These are the ones no burial rites attend," She murmured low, "Thus must I ever bear." "Dear Jayan," once she breathed, "unto the end, I rode unseen, a shadow in your care. You turned not 'round, but hastened on your way,...
Read more

Of Petals and Lineage

-
Image
  In the garden of my memories, three generations bloom- my mother, a pink magnolia at dusk, her hands soft as twilight, her roots deep in ancient soil. She moved through rooms like prayer, her hands blessing everything they touched, her silence teaching me how to listen to the world's quiet music. My sister, a sunflower in full blaze, turning always toward the light, her laughter spilling gold across our childhood kitchen. When she stepped from her bath, water droplets clinging to her skin like jewels, I saw our mother's grace reborn- the same curve of neck, the same dream-filled eyes holding whole galaxies within their depths. And now my daughters- wild lilies just unfolding, their small feet pattering like spring rain on wooden floors. When I kiss their tiny toes, I taste the future on my lips, sweet with possibility. Their hair, still fine as Cinderella  wishes, carries the scent of new beginnings. I am the soil that holds them all, the dark, rich earth between seasons, th...
Read more

In the Depths of Night, a Dawn

-
Image
  Silent depths of my troubled nights, I seek the dawn’s forgiving light, A refuge in the Buddha’s grace, A gentle rain upon this place.   I ask to see with mindful sight, To walk the path of truth and right, Where hatred fades, where anger ceases, And loving-kindness slowly increases.   May compassion’s waters freely flow, Healing wounds I dare not show, Turning my deserts into springs, From selfless deeds, let peace take wings.   I bow in humble reverence true, To wisdom’s jewel, serene and pure, To peace born when desires end, To hearts that forgive, to hands that mend.   My voice rises as a tender song, Offering my heart where it belongs, Oh, lamp of Dharma, calm and clear, Guide my steps when fear draws near.   In darkness dense and heavy-laden, When grief has left my spirit shaken, Teach me suffering’s passing way, That all things change, none ever stay.   Pour your mercy like gentle rain, Not with wrath, not with di...
Read more

The Unseen Current

-
Image
A tender heart, where new paths start to gleam, Let wisdom's whisper temper every dream. For sudden flames can scorch the fragile bloom, And hasty steps may lead to shadowed room. Two fires burn, a tale the spirit knows, But heed the gentle tide where insight flows. Lest passion's torrent sweep you off your feet, And leave a barren shore, a bitter defeat. The dawn's soft touch, a beauty to behold, Yet deeper truths than surfaces unfold. A fleeting glance, a judgment swift and keen, May miss the quiet grace that lies unseen. Where deep desires like hidden rivers run, Let mindful banks contain what has begun. For unchecked floods can breach the careful wall, And leave the landscape scarred beyond recall. So let the soul, where yearning starts to rise, Be guided by the stars of steady skies. The vibrant hues that tempt the eager eye, May veil the deeper currents flowing by. For love's embrace, though sweet and softly spun, Can bind the will if caution is undone. And fierce...
Read more

The Dance of Trust and Shadow

-
Image
In nascent dawns, where hopeful spirits meet, A fragile bloom, called Trust, with petals sweet, Unfurls its grace in kinship's gentle air, A whispered vow, a burden light to bear. A hand outstretched, a gaze that knows no guile, A shared ascent, on life's uncertain mile. A bond is forged in moments pure and bright, A promise whispered in the fading light. Yet in the heart of every sunlit space, Where faith resides and finds its dwelling place, A subtle shift, a coolness in the breeze, A shadow stirs among the rustling trees. Betrayal waits, with patient, knowing eyes, A phantom friend in cunning, dark disguise. A chilling guest that feasts upon the soul, A bitter draught that takes its heavy toll. Still, shrink not back when Love extends its hand, Though treacherous paths may scar the promised land. For in the courage to believe anew, A wellspring deep of strength resides in you. To risk the fall, to open wide the door, Is to embrace the richness life has in store. For even whe...
Read more

The Hunters of Their Own Minds

-
Image
  With crowns of arrogance you stand, from crumbling thrones your voices call. “Higher, purer, better than you!”- but your shadows stain the ancient wall. Your gilded masks, though shining bright, hide fears you dare not speak aloud. Your echoes fill the hollow halls, a fading strength, no longer proud. You hunt the dark-skinned and the women, reducing souls to forms to seize. A human isn’t human then- just something bent to your unease. With shuttered eyes and hearts of scorn, you judge and never understand that beneath the surface each of us shares the same wounds, hand in hand. But silence breaks;a rising swell, a bloom of truth begins to grow. A story forms, a stronger voice to sweep away the ancient woe. For truth’s light cuts more sharp and keen than any blade you blindly wield; and words, though soft and unseen, will make your hatred break and yield. So let My poem question you: “What sin resides in being born? Is fault in skin, the outward mask, or in the gender we adorn?” ...
Read more

The Stillness of the Code

-
Image
  I do not hold you, the weapon you carried, the wound you nurse. And in not holding, I love. With wings of the soul wide open, love becomes the art of release— When you know this, you will be free. That is the code. I looked into your eyes, and sorrow stared back. A revolution’s anger, its victories, its ghosts— all stitched into banners you clung to. But you never once noticed: there was no permanent ‘you’ reflected within the cause. Love is not a flag, nor a monument to a fallen friend, but the stillness of compassion— a silent presence beside you until you meet yourself face to face, beyond the war. I chose this robe not to flee the world, but to unlearn the clutching. When you came, bloodied and seeking peace, I did not fear— for I had already learned to love without grasping the outcome. You ask me for a code? Listen— All things will change. All things will pass. And yet, compassion will have no end. There is perfect peace in the space between— a sacred mantra whispered: "Th...
Read more

I Speak in the Shadows ( for Arising Star Girls)

-
Image
  I shape my thoughts in quiet corners, Polish my words until they are ready to fly. Each idea I hold is a fragile bridge From my mind to the world, trembling with risk. Today, even I hesitate to speak the truth, For every word, every sketch, every stroke Can ignite storms that chase me into silence. I remember those who dared before me- Virginia Woolf, Simone de Beauvoir, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou- Their visions clashed with rage and fear, Yet they lived on in words, in courage, in ink. I paint, I write, I craft my voice, Even when threats roar and shadows stretch long. Expression is not just art to me; It is my breath, my heartbeat, my defiance. Communities watch me, judge me, condemn me, Moral police in shadows, measuring every gesture. Even a smile, a gentle touch, a shared thought Becomes for me an act of courage, a quiet revolt. Some of my sparks burn and fade, Yet I continue where conscience refuses to bow. Even in fear’s cold grip, I rise, holding my pen, my brush, my voi...
Read more