4Linegraphia-en

Every night, you come to me, In dreams where time’s unbound, A whisper from a memory, Where love and loss are found. Your face appears in shadowed light, A smile both warm and sad, A ghost that dances in the night, In moments good and bad. I try to close my weary eyes, To leave you far behind, But still you visit, soft disguise, The echo in my mind. I’m caught between the past and now, Between what was and gone, A silent reason I can't name, That keeps me from your dawn. A heart that breaks but doesn’t bow, I reach, and then I run.

Across the stars, through endless night, I ride alone on trails of light. A silver tear, a lonely ghost, Of all the souls I loved the most. I traded soul, a fading flame, To give my planet back its name. Like shattered glass, my life was torn, To feed a hunger newly born. He made me this—a boundless slave, A gravity tide, a voiceless wave. I sought his feasts from sky to sky, And watched a thousand planets die. But when I reached Earth's fragile shore, A hummingbird's heart I heard—and more. A whisper stirred, a spark, a flame— A cry for mercy, not for fame. I turned away, a storm of might, And faced my master, dark as night. He cursed me down, a falling star, A broken shield in endless war. Now grounded, lost, no longer free, I am a prisoner—rooted like a tree. With roots in earth and arms of dreams, I reach for what I cannot see. Yet on this Earth, so scarred, so small, I saw your hands deface it all. You lit the skies with ash and flame, Then turned and gave your...

This page is not yours to guide. It is a path I walk alone — not because I reject company, but because some roads are carved from solitude. This page is a landscape I am shaping with a pen, a path that has always whispered beneath my feet. It teaches me that what grows slowly, lasts. The ink is the river — dark with memory, flooded with questions I once feared to ask. Now I know: uncertainty is the birthplace of real learning. You may not see the mountains I climb inside, the places I’ve had to let go just to keep walking. But I’ve learned — not all weight is meant to be carried, and release is not weakness, but wisdom. I do not write to fit inside your frame. I live to feel the full stretch of my being, not to fold myself into shapes that please the room. And that, too, is freedom. This is not just ink— it is what I could not say aloud. A voice I reclaimed when the world grew too loud. And I learned: silence is not always empty. Sometimes, it’s where we find ourselves wait...

They do not shout from rooftops, nor carve their names in stone, yet in the breath between chaos and calm, they live — a quiet flame that burns alone. Not kings, not saints, but mothers who boil rice in borrowed kitchens, fathers whose hands are cracked with dust, yet hold dignity like a crown. They rise before the world wakes, not to win, but to give — a glass of water to the thirsty, a word of hope to the weary, a roof, a path, a prayer, a seed. They are not written into history books, but the pulse of history beats in their veins. Their truths are not poetic metaphors, but rice sacks split to share when hunger knocks at the neighbor’s door. In the village lane where schools are few, a girl teaches her siblings from torn pages, and in the digital din of neon towns, a boy plants saplings between broken tiles, asking no permission from the world to make it better. These are the unnamed architects of what is still good — men who build without applause, women who give without...

The sun climbs up, the day takes hold, A list of tasks, both new and old. The tools lie waiting, sharp and true, The work is ready — meant for you. But in the corner, soft and sly, A whisper says, “Let this one lie.” Why toil and sweat and chase the grind? Just scrimshank now — they will not mind. He fakes a cough, he claims a pain, Escapes the job, avoids the strain. But every task he leaves undone Becomes the weight of everyone. A teammate sighs, another bends, To carry what he won’t defend. Their backs grow sore, their time runs thin — While he walks out with a lazy grin. Yet work ignored does not just fade, It stains the path the honest laid. For every lie, excuse, and shirk Erodes the pride of honest work. But some stand firm through sweat and heat, They show up whole, they don’t retreat. Their hands grow rough, their will turns steel, They live the truth that others feel. And I am one among that line — Whose sweat is proof, whose hands define The worth of work, the gr...

I was born where chandeliers kissed the sky, Where wealth was truth, and gold never lied. A crown without battle, a name that rang loud, Among kings and giants, I stood proud. A mansion's child, with walls so wide, A fleet of dreams parked right outside. Fathers envied, mothers praised, In silken circles, I was raised. My father — wise, a man of steel, Taught me honor, taught me real. My mother — soft, her touch divine, Held my storms in hands so fine. A sister’s laughter filled the air, With secrets only siblings share. My wife — my breath, my sacred vow, Whose smile could calm the worst of now. Grandparents old, with eyes like grace, Their words, a map; their arms, a place. We sat as one — a fortress strong, A golden family, full and long. The world would bow when I would speak, I didn’t chase — fortune would seek. Assets, lands, empires signed, A life most men would never find. But storms don’t knock — they break the door, And take much more than gold can store. Deat...

Out in the wild, where sheep would stray, A shepherd boy sang the night away. Today, in alleys and urban light, A lost kid hums through a lonely night. He faced the lion, the bear, the threat, With fearless heart and no regret. We face our giants—the quiet, the grim, In anxious thoughts and screens' false hymn. A harp in hand, he calmed a king's storm, We stream a song to stay safe and warm. He danced for joy, a worshiping soul, We swipe for peace to feel more whole. Goliath fell to a single stone, By faith, not power, he was overthrown. We fight our fears from deep inside, With whispered prayers and nowhere to hide. He fled from Saul, from the jealous hand, Still trusting a greater, unseen plan. We run from shame, from a world's cruel eye, Yet still long for truth to rise on high. He fell in sin, then broke in grief, But in God's mercy, he found relief. And so do we, when hearts collapse, Finding grace to bridge the painful gaps. A crown he wore, but more t...