The Quiet Pillar

-



If you would know the worth of a mother’s love,

Ask one who grew in silence without her care.

In empty rooms where childhood stories fade away,

Her unseen grace still whispers softly through the air.

*

Some strike the hands that once had helped them learn to stand,

The arms that wrapped their fragile lives in gentle peace.

Yet in the crowd they show a tender, borrowed love-

A strange display where truth and contradiction meet.

*

A mother stands, the quiet pillar of our lives,

The hidden strength behind the heights we rise to reach.

Her silent gifts, though seldom praised or spoken of,

Shape who we are far more than words could ever teach.

*

Her love’s a fire that warms the coldest nights of fear,

A steady light that guides our wandering hearts through storms.

Yet life can leave her spirit tired and bruised by time,

Her faithful heart still holding warmth in broken forms.

*

Some turn away from those whose love had given life,

Chasing a fleeting joy that quickly fades away.

They close the doors once opened wide with tender care,

And leave behind a lonely, echoing cry of pain.

*

Yet deep within the quiet soul of every woman

There lives the seed of motherhood’s enduring grace.

A boundless love that heals the wounds of fragile hearts,

And lifts the fallen spirit from its darkest place.

*

For she is more than blood and bone within this world,

She is the root that holds our restless lives in place.

Her silent tears, her endless patience, quiet strength-

The unseen light that time itself cannot erase.

*

So let us honor every mother while we can,

With grateful words and kindness shown in simple ways.

For through the storms and sunlight of our passing years,

A mother’s love remains the fire that lights our days.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Soldier

-
Image
I stand here strong, both brave and tall, Yet truth be told-I hate war’s call. I never wished for fights or pain, I only wished for peace again. I love the quiet morning breeze, The rustling leaves upon the trees. I love the songs of birds at dawn, And golden fields the sun shines on. I dream of laughter, pure and bright, Of children running in delight. I dream of roads where people sing, And simple joys that mornings bring. I dream of home, so far away, Where my old parents kneel and pray. My mother waits with hopeful eyes, My father hides his silent sighs. My little sister waves goodbye, Pretending that she will not cry. They tell me, “Son, be safe, be strong,” But I can hear the fear along. I never wished to hold a gun, Or march beneath the burning sun. My heart was made for gentler days, For peaceful fields and quiet ways. But darkness came, so cold, so near, A shadow filled with hate and fear. It tried to steal the peace we knew, The sky so wide, the morning dew. So here I stand u...
Read more

The Quiet After the Bugle

-
Image
The evening fades and quiet fills the room with shade. An empty chair still waits beside the silent door. Soft sunbeams wander slowly through the dusty air, Touching the walls where echoes of his laughter live. A weathered frame still guards the memory of his smile, Unchanged by years and unseen tears she keeps inside. They said he marched with courage bright beneath the flag; Now folded colors rest above his quiet grave. The bugle called across a sky too wide for grief, And pride and sorrow tangled deep within her hands. Morning arrives with gentler steps than once before; His boots no longer stand in patience by the door. The kettle sings a lonely song for only one, While two small voices call her name with hopeful eyes. She braids their hair and mends the seams of growing days, And reads again the letters softened by her tears. “Soon I’ll return,” the final fading promise says- A line that time has left unanswered in the blue. Each year she walks among the rows of silent stone And l...
Read more

The Character Beyond the Page

-
Image
  In God’s vast poem she was a passing line, A quiet shadow drifting through the text. Her colors faded in the writer’s dark ink, A dream that time had slowly washed away. She had no name that echoed through the lines, No weight to bend the rhythm of the tale. She came and went like wind through empty rooms, A fleeting step between important scenes. The pages where the spring of love once flowed Had long grown dry beneath repeating words. She spoke the same old lines the story gave, A dull refrain of days that never changed. Within a half-written and wandering tale She was a patch between unfinished thoughts, A seam the writer placed to hold the thread Of something larger she could never see. But in a silent corner of the page A question stirred beneath the printed lines: “Why must I live inside this narrow space? Why should my life be written by your ink?” That day the ink that shaped her fragile world Could not command her wandering spirit’s will. The fences built by chapters cra...
Read more

Unlived Tomorrows

-
Image
  War took far more than names carved into stone. It stole the quiet mornings never born. The kettle sang, its silver breath in air, yet empty chairs stood waiting by the fire. Not only lives lost far on distant fields, but futures dimmed beside a kitchen pane. The bread lay whole, untouched upon the board, and missing hands left silence at the table. The stories fathers never told their sons, the rusted hinges crying on the gate. A garden plot lay waiting for the spring, its patient soil remembering their steps. The maps of lives once sketched in hopeful lines were torn along the fragile edge of time. Dry ink remained upon the unread page; the pen hung still within a quiet room. Written on an unread page: "The greatest loss of war Is not the life fallen on the field, But the future stolen from the kitchen window Dreams waiting at home that will never return" . Long shadows filled the patient hallway’s length, while ticking clocks spoke softly into air. A city's strength ...
Read more

More Than a Friend Request

-
Image
  I have always believed A friendship is more than a click, More than a glowing screen at night. It lives in voices, laughter, and quiet moments Where hearts recognize one another. Across the digital streets of Facebook, I once watched people gather like neighbors In a vast town square- Sharing birthdays, memories, small victories, And the simple magic of everyday life. Through the dream of Meta, The world seemed to move a little closer, Where distant families felt near, And strangers sometimes became Beautiful stories in our lives. But today, as I scroll through endless feeds, I see shadows moving between the words- Fake stories drifting like digital ash, Profiles without faces, Truth struggling to be heard. Sometimes the screen becomes a battlefield. Sharp comments replace conversation, And cyberbullying hides behind usernames, Turning words into silent wounds. What was meant to connect us Sometimes threatens the very hearts It promised to bring together. I pause and wonder If we...
Read more

Before the School Bus Comes

-
Image
  ************** The first light whispers softly in saffron morning hue. Across my quiet window spreads a gentle waking dawn. In many Indian homes a story begins like this- A mother’s patient love awakening the day. * Before the rising sun I wake with sleepy eyes. Like countless mothers starting quiet morning chores. The house still rests beneath the pale and waking sky, While quiet hands prepare the rhythm of the day. * “Betta, wake up now, the morning sun has come,” I call. My daughter slowly rises from her drifting dreams. She smiles softly, still wrapped inside her dream-world. While pale gold light slips softly through the window bars. * Her uniform waits pressed with ribbons ready to tie. Two patient braids fall gently down her shoulders now. Sleepy laughter slowly fills the quiet morning room. Morning sunlight warms the silent walls of home. * The scent of cardamom slowly fills the warm air. The kitchen wakes with spices ground by careful hands. A steamed banana waits beside...
Read more

Worm and Man - A Dance of Life

-
Image
Born like a worm, Little and low, Crawling through dust Where quiet shadows grow. >>> Beneath the sun, life starts its dance, Where roots and hidden worlds entwine, From humble soil our stories rise, In earth’s embrace our spirits shine. >>> Man stands tall with boastful sound, His voice may echo far and wide, Yet he forgets the silent ground Where ancient truths and worms abide. >>> Tiny worms in patient grace Whisper softly from below, Of time and space and nature’s place, Where every living being must go. >>> But breath will fade and bodies fall, Pride dissolves in dust again, Returning gently to the call Of earth-the oldest home of men. >>> Then worms appear in silent peace, Not as foes but nature’s art, Ending fear, bringing release, Returning life where all must start. >>> So worm and man,both small and grand- Begin and end in nature’s blend, Part of the same eternal plan, Quiet companions in the end >>> I speak as on...
Read more

Light and Dark: How We Love

-
Image
  I am the dawn, the breath of gold, Rising where the night grows old, I paint the sky in fragile flame, Yet every morning feels the same- For though I glow and call the day, I know the dark has slipped away. I love her not despite her shade, But for the quiet she has made, For in her arms the world can rest, Unburdened hearts within her chest. She keeps the stars where dreams can grow, While I am loud with all I show. She comes when I begin to fade, Soft-footed, calm, in twilight laid, And as I sink beyond the hill, She meets me there, unspoken still. No jealousy between our roles- We share the keeping of all souls. She is the pause, I am the start, Two rhythms of a single heart, Where I reveal, she teaches trust, Where I am certain, she is must. I light the path so eyes can see, She guards the truths that long to be. In her, the broken learn to mend, In me, the weary rise again, She wraps the world in velvet slow, I wake the seeds she lets me sow. We ...
Read more

Banyan’s Lament

-
Image
  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...
Read more