Fourlinegraphia

  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I walked where hunger carved its mark in dust, The bamboo rose like wants I could not still. I cut one down, yet many took its place, Desire climbed and pressed against the sky. !!!!!!!!!! In shadowed past, the forest breathed in hush, A restless longing stirred beneath my skin. I claimed the green as something made for me, And cut as though it had no voice to lose. !!!!!!!!!! Each hollow stem became a dream I held, A roof, a bed, a cradle yet to swing. I shaped my future from the living wood, And never paused to hear what roots might say. !!!!!!!!!! My blade came down; the earth replied in pain, The broken ground released its hidden fangs. From silent depths, the waiting dangers rose, Like buried truths returning into light. !!!!!!!!!! I struck them down, yet still they seemed to grow, For what we hide will find its way again. The forest whispered softly through the leaves, But want had made me deaf to all but need. !!!!!!!!!! A fragile ne...

In silent ink, eternity is spun, A voice that whispers when all is gone. Through fleeting shadows, words remain- A light that guides us through joy and pain.   ***************** Letters endure where fleeting voices fade, In poetry, their living breath is found. From silent thoughts, in careful lines they're made, And shape the truth that echoes all around. *** The pen, a sword of ink and quiet fire, Through poetry, it carves what must be known. It lifts the weak, it kindles lost desire, And gives a voice to hearts once left alone. *** In letters born, the dreams of freedom rise, Through poetry, they reach the open air. It walks with those in poverty and cries, Yet stands with wealth that glitters unaware. *** It sings of women,strength in every line, A grace that time and struggle can't erase. Through every verse, their silent powers shine, In poetry, they claim their rightful place. *** Each letter holds both tenderness and pain, In poetry, all human truths are cast. Kindness...

In temple fire, I rose beyond my name, My colors burned,red rage, white hush, black past. Bare feet on stone, I climbed through chants and smoke, Each drumbeat shaped a god from fragile bone. My skin became a map of hidden truths, A painted lie the faithful learned to trust. I wore their faith like armor made of flame, While doubt lay waiting, breathing under ash. Each step I climbed was built from silent need, From hunger sharpened by a world denied. I rose, Kaliyattakkaran  in their eyes- No longer man, but something they could fear. Crowned high in fire and woven threads of awe, I stood where questions perished into praise. They bowed as if my silence carried truth, While pride and faith grew tangled in my chest. At last I stepped into the living flame, Not as a man, but longing turned to light. I felt myself dissolve in something vast- The fire and I were no longer apart. In that bright union, doubt began to stir, A whisper threading through the sacred heat. For even gods, when...

From distant gaze, you shine with radiant grace, Like dawn that gilds the edges of the sky. Your tender smile enchants the longing heart, And draws us close, as tides obey the moon. But standing near, your laughter splits the air, A thunder crack that shatters sacred calm. Revealed beneath,your teeth are stained with night, As though the dark itself has learned to bleed. Within your charm, a silent serpent coils, Its venom masked in honeyed, gentle words. Your voice, like fire in sacred scripture cast, Still lures the lost like moths unto their end. Desire burns in you, a restless flame, And war resounds within your beating pulse. A beauty fierce, yet cloaked in false divine, A storm disguised within a house of prayer. Yet I have seen beyond your shining veil, A truth no shadow dares to hide for long. I bear a strength, a quiet binding force, To break your hold and strip your borrowed light. For every soul you crushed beneath your will, For every cry that vanished into dust, I draw a c...

  “Peace is often not genuine calm or harmony. It is a kind of numbness or illusion created after violence, pain, and sacrifice.” ********************* What we call “peace” is not pure - it is something fermented from suffering. Sacred words are placed in vessels, mixed with human blood, burned, buried, dissolved, turned into something else  and when we consume it, the numbness we feel is what we name as peace. >>> The world can cut and bleed, and peace from bitter seeds grows, In quiet after dreams, from shadows and from screams it flows. *** A sorrow steeped so slow in wounds we hide and vows we keep, Words once so pure and bright now stained in endless nights run deep. *** Sacred words rest in vessels, truths we cannot deny still, Mixed with what life has torn, with weary hearts it bends our will. *** Burned and broken away, then buried deep in hidden ground, Lost within time itself, where silent pain will not be found. *** At last it turns anew, from all the trial...

  I used to have a room with corners that remembered me. Walls that heldthe warmth of names, a window where the sun arrived gently- like it knew me. Now, the sky is my ceiling,wide, careless, never the same twice. The pavement does not keep memories- only footsteps that forget me as soon as they pass. I build my “room” out of shadows at night, a doorway from cardboard and hope, a roof from borrowed sleep. People walk by like closed doors. Their eyes- windows that never open. But still, in the quiet between noises, I gather small things: a kind glance, a half-smile, the warmth of tea held too long in my hands. And somehow, in this endless nowhere, I carry a room inside me fragile, invisible, but mine. Not made of walls,but of what I refuse to lose.   "Though walls may fade and corners blur,   the heart's own room remains pure, sure,   crafted not of stone or wood, but grace-  an everlasting, sacred place."         

  I was a seed at dawn-my life began, Beneath the soil where quiet hope once ran. I came, I saw, I breathed the silent air, A fleeting whisper,here, then nowhere. >>> With every sun, I rose and learned to grow, I felt the winds and rains I’d come to know. The world I saw was brief and full of light, A fragile dance that faded into night. >>> My life moved on in ways I’d never know, Like grains of dust through open hands it’d flow. In shadowed steps, I drifted out of sight, A silent rhythm fading into night. >>> I came and went like mist at break of day, My colors dimmed, my edges slipped away. A fleeting breath, a form that could not stay, A shadow lost along the quiet way. >>> I turned within and from the world I hid, A voiceless echo of the life I lived. A memory soft lingering in shade, A distant trace that slowly starts to fade. >>> Yet in my loss, a quiet grace I find, A gentle peace that lingers in the mind. For as I fade, I feel a...

  Grave flowers rise where quiet stones remember, Bright blooms that carry neither scent nor pride. I walk among the rows of silent sleepers, And feel the breath of stories in the soil. *** Why do these blossoms grow without their fragrance? Perhaps the earth has drunk their tears too long. Beneath this ground lie hearts that once were burning, With love for others, hopes the world forgot. *** Some lived their lives in service of another, And gave their light like candles in the wind. Their gentle deeds were scattered through the seasons, Yet time has sealed their names beneath the dust. *** I stand and think how fragile life can wander, How pride and anger fade before the grave. No gold remains, no crown survives the silence- Only the weight of kindness that we gave. *** These flowers teach a quiet human lesson: That life is brief, but goodness travels far. The hands that heal, the words that guard another, Outlive the noise of power and of fame. *** Sometimes I feel these blossom...

  I was a rose beneath the sun, Waiting for a hummingbird’s gentle flight. My petals opened just for you, Holding my nectar, soft and bright. Each dawn I hoped your wings would pause, That you would rest your heart in mine. But winds kept calling you away To other blooms along the vine. I loved you more than words could say, Yet love should never beg to stay. A rose must guard her silent pride, Not lose herself along the way. So I will not bend to the ground, Nor plead for wings that choose to roam. My petals carry quiet strength- A lonely rose still stands her own. The love I gave was never wrong, It proved the depth my heart could grow. And somewhere in this endless garden A kinder bird may someday know. For after storms and falling rain, The sky returns both calm and blue. New blossoms wake in gentle light, And love will find the heart that’s true. Do not bend to touch the ground, For someone who won’t turn around. Love was never meant to be A chain that steals your dignity.

  Today the candles count to one hundred and two,   yet you sit before them,silent, calm-  like time itself has paused, breath held,   to listen to the quiet strength of your soul. >>> Father,   I am the single branch   that grew from your patient seasons,   the fragile bloom nurtured by your unwavering care.   In the garden of your years,   I was the seed you chose to water   with the vastness of your sky,   the gentle rain of your hopes. >>> Your hands! oh, your hands-   they are maps of love,   rivers of wrinkles flowing with stories   from worlds I’ve never seen,   yet when they hold mine,   they still feel like the first shelter,   the warmest refuge I ever knew. >>> One hundred and two birthdays   have traced your path-  each a testament to quiet resilience,   yet your voi...

  Hidden dogs roam every road beneath the sun Their restless barking fills the evening air We see their teeth and hear their warning growls So careful feet can pass the dusty path But some dark creatures hide beyond our sight Like sudden lightning striking from the void They leap unseen and bite the trembling flesh Then fade again inside the silent shade Such rabid hearts run fast through shadowed lanes They carry death within their restless breath A storm of rage that no one hears or sees Until the wound appears upon the soul Among the crowds some human faces smile Yet deep inside their silent venom sleeps They wait like hunters buried in the dark For one brief chance to strike a fragile life Their hidden war is waged in quiet minds No barking warns the traveler on the road They walk with us like ordinary souls But storms of ruin gather in their chest They harm another with a sudden blow Yet walk beside their own approaching grave For those who live to wound the world in hate Alre...

  “What did I have?” said the old Arab man, “What did I have before the roaring machines?” I had palm trees whispering in desert wind, Dates like honey in the hands of my sons, A quiet well, a camel’s slow shadow, And stars that belonged to no one but God. >>> Then strangers came with maps and promises, Eyes fixed not on my trees but the earth below. They said the sand was rich with black rivers, And the desert would shine with golden wealth. My palms were cut, the wells grew taller than minarets, And the night filled with the thunder of engines. >>> “What did I gain?” said the tired old man, “What did the desert gain from this black fire?” Cities rose where the dunes once wandered, But soldiers marched where children once ran. The wind carried smoke instead of prayers, And the sky learned the color of war. >>> Decades passed like drifting sandstorms, Kings changed, flags rose and fell. My sons grew into men with rifles, Their sons into shadows in distant...

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...

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 th...

  ************** 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...

  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...

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...

  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 ...

  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...