4Linegraphia-en

  Once, you were my only poem. You were the meaning and the letters in every line. Each breath I took rhymed with your name, Each silence between words echoed your touch. I wrote you into sunsets and folded you into the wind, Loving you in verses I never dared speak aloud. Lost in the rhythms that merged with you, I forgot myself. Your presence became my punctuation — A comma when I hesitated, A full stop when I fell. I blurred between the stanzas and your smile, Erased my own story to make room for yours. When my throat choked and words ran dry, I understood That even poetry cannot mend a breaking heart. That metaphors falter when reality sets in. You were not a lyric — just a lingering hum In a song that no longer plays. My poems were merely tear stains, devoid of script, Bleeding on pages I never meant to keep. I had confused your silence for depth, Your distance for mystery, Your absence for art. The ink, once vibrant, had dissolved into salt and sorrow, Leaving behind a barren...

  My teacher wears no crown, Nor holds a scepter, robe, or gown. They walk beside us every day, In quiet words, in work and play. A guiding hand, a patient soul, With wisdom deep, to make us whole. No grand pronouncements, loud and bold, But quiet truths in stories told. No ink-stained page, no well-worn phrase, But wisdom whispered through life's maze. A quiet knowing, softly shown, On paths of growth, uniquely grown. It’s not just books or chalk and board, But kindness in a look or word. It’s patience when we make mistakes, And cheering on the path we take. They plant the seeds of right and wrong, Where kindness blooms and hearts grow strong. They teach us grace when we might fall, To answer duty’s quiet call. They speak not just in worded lore, But truths that open every door. A kaleidoscope of thought and view, Awakening the soul anew. Beyond the lessons, clear and taught, They show us battles bravely fought. A teacher may be young or old, With stories new or wisdom bold. But w...

No polished desk, no ringing bell, Just morning light where stories dwell. A mother’s arms, the first embrace, The gentle rhythm of her grace. She teaches patience, soft and slow, The quiet truths that children know. Before the books, before the name, She lights the spirit’s inner flame. Her tender gaze, a guiding star, Revealing who they truly are. From whispered songs to silent fears, She wipes away unbidden tears. The art of sharing, how to mend, The steadfast heart, the loyal friend. Her kitchen floor, a canvas wide, Where worlds are built and dreams reside. She plants the seeds of what will be In every touch — for all to see. A garden of growth, within her care, Blossoming beauty, everywhere. When you drank from my breast, dear child, I feared — would poison, even mild, Pass into you without a trace, And harm the soul I longed to grace? Such is the weight a mother bears — In every drop, both love and cares. She feeds with hope and guards with doubt, While slowly learni...

O daughter of light, adorned in red, With jasmine garlands round your head, Step softly now, the path is new, With love beside, and hope with you. You’ll walk beside him, not behind, But bear your weight with strength and mind. For life, though sweet, will lay its claim— Not every burden wears a name. The world may smile, the world may scorn, It greets the gold, but laughs the worn. A man without his coin, they say, Is but a corpse along life’s way. You’ll carry weight upon your shoulders, The heavy load of endless boulders. That’s what they mean by burden borne— A load no soul was ever warned. Beware the path of idle ways, “Do nothing, and you’ll be a beggar,” they say. A lazy hand, a wandering mind, Leaves dignity and hope behind. Yet when the crowd’s harsh whispers call, Choose silence—dignity stands tall. Some gatherings with pride entwined, Are not for you to seek or find. Better to walk with humble hearts, With those whose income plays no part. “Better the company ben...

We met not under calm blue skies, But in the heat where ego flies. No gentle breeze or quiet grace — Just sparks that danced from face to face. You came with fire in every word, I hissed back truths you never heard. Our love was not of whispered dreams, But tangled roots and shouted themes. Your fury burns, so wild, so fast — Mine coils silent, holding past. You strike in daylight, raw and loud, I wait till dusk, behind the cloud. Still, we orbit, round and round, Two warriors tied to battleground. The bed turns cold, then warm again — Our touch both comforter and chain. We’ve broken plates and slammed the door, Yet somehow stayed to fight once more. I’ve packed my bags a hundred times, You've stormed out under moonless skies. But every time we almost fall, Some softer part inside recalls: The way you check if I’ve eaten still, The way I laugh against my will. We argue sharp, with venom and flame, But never call each other names. Strange how the war that makes us bleed ...

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...

  Across the azure spread, my childhood ocean lay, To shores of spice, where ancient memories sway. A gentle voyage, from a world once bright, My Cochin home, now a distant, fading light. In sunlit streets, where history softly slept, My heritage forged, the quiet vows we kept. A Cochin daughter, with grace in every line, I found my peace, a light that felt divine. From ancient days, though fires burned afar, No malice touched us, no lasting, cruel scar. Anti-Semitism's venomous, bitter art, Could never pierce my sheltered, beating heart. Yet in my essence, a shimmering, tender gleam, A living truth, a fragile, vibrant dream. With unwavering faith, my solitary star, I rose, not broken, from scars I knew afar. In shadows deep, where quiet sorrows held their sway, My spirit's might, made every broken piece whole one day. My inventive mind, a quiet, inner flame, Shaping my path, whispering my family's name. The whispered Kaddish, a solace, soft and low, For lives remembered, r...