4Linegraphia-en

  The mountain stands, a silent girl, Her heart carved deep in stone and pearl. She bears the weight of sky and time, Her quiet form, both grave and prime. They say the sky cries when it rains— Its grief like glass upon the panes. But what of cliffs and rugged plains? Who hears the mountain's hidden pains? Look where the waterfalls appear— They are the mountain shedding tear. From craggy brow and stony face, Her sorrow spills with strength and grace. A wild heart’s cry, a soul’s release, That finds no solace, finds no peace. She does not wail, she does not plead, But lets her rivers rise and bleed. The mountain stands so tall, so still, Yet holds a storm it cannot kill. The rivers born from silent pain Flow laughing down the wooded plain, But underneath that joyous stream Are haunted roots and broken dream. She remembers careless hands, That scarred her face and razed her lands. The falling spray, a mournful mist, From wounds inflicted, newly kissed. When sunlight strikes her falli...

  I am the bucket, simple, strong, and true, From ancient times, my purpose ever new. In bark and hide, my earliest form I knew, I fetched the water, cool and fresh, for you. I carried grain, from fields of golden sway, And nurtured seeds, through every dawning day. Through ages vast, I felt my form transform, From clay's embrace, weathering every storm. A wooden pail, with metal bands so bright, Or earthenware, in shades of dusky light. I hauled the soil, for farmers' patient art, And mixed the spoil, playing a crucial part. In grandest halls, I quenched the hearth's desire, And doused the flames of many a sudden fire. From muddy banks, I scooped the humble clay, Shaping new vessels for a brighter day. Then iron came, a metal bold and grand, My story whispered, across the changing land. A galvanized pail, with silver's stark appeal, Or tin's dull gleam, the weight of use I'd feel. I crossed the seas, on ships of timbered might, Bearing bounty, through the day a...

  Under the soft glow of moonlight, we slipped through the quiet gate. The night, a velvet hush, draped over naked shoulders, warm and late, embracing our shared fate. Stars danced across the water’s skin, twinkling secrets in the dark, a silent, knowing plea. The sky, a tapestry of silver threads, finely spun, matched the fire your touch ignited in me. A whisper of air, cool and light, brushed our skin, carrying chlorine, lust, and endless night. Alone at the pool, the world asleep, lost in dreams, our bodies bathed in the moon's tender, silver light. You dipped your toes, a playful gesture, and turned to smile, your eyes a dare, a silent question I couldn't resist. Then with a joyful splash, you pulled me into the cool embrace, and met me with a soft, teasing kiss. The water clung like liquid silk, a second skin, our limbs entangled, slow and gloriously free. Your hands explored in playful swirls, a lover's dance, beneath the moon’s approving, watchful gleam. Laughter tur...

From Kerala's heart, where green hills rise, I've seen the campus stir, beneath changing skies. Not just of books, its tale unfolds, But of battles fought, and stories bold. Here revolutions bloom, in vibrant hues, And politics weaves its intricate clues. The air is thick with strategies deep, As campus scenes their vigilance keep. But time's swift current, as it flows, I've watched the struggle, the seeds it sows. A breakdown of thought, a painful hue, As little mafia's grip breaks through. Their shadow falls where learning's light should be, Goons' playground mars what once was free. Each soul a battle, fought within, A private war, where scars begin. But justice and truth, they drift so far, Lost in the shadow of a deeper war. In holy and sinful moments we weigh, The shifting currents of each passing day. Yet a whisper rises, a steadfast plea, For peace and rights, for humanity. So let's fight for a future, vibrant and new, Where the campus thrives, a...

  My eyes, like embers of a dying fire, Born from the salt-laced rivers of my despair. A quarrel—sharp as shattered glass— Still etches wounds too deep to pass. Was it love, once sacred, now decayed? Or dreams I built, so carefully, betrayed? Perhaps the lie, a serpent in our grass, Or torture's grip I couldn’t outlast. Some wounds, I know, are bought with tongues, Poisoned whispers where malice clung. Then came the crimson tides I drew, From bottles cloaked in midnight hue. A fiery solace, dusk through dawn, A haze to numb what once shone strong. In anger’s grip, my thoughts ran wild, A storm inside, no longer mild. Each gulp I took, a silent plea— To drown the demons chasing me. But clarity slipped far from shore, And left me shadows, nothing more. And yet, at times, these eyes ignite, With raw desire, no will to fight. A primal gleam I can’t deny, That burns beneath a moonless sky. When kindness fades and masks are torn, When all that's human stands forlorn, My gaze—relentle...

I. The Birth of the Flame Red eyes, like embers of a dying fire, born from the salt-laced rivers of despair. Not born, but forged — in fire and flood, in silence and screams, a wound that remembers light. A quarrel sharp as shattered glass, etched on the soul, too deep to pass. Was it marriage — a sacred bond now frayed, or finances, dreams meticulously betrayed? Perhaps betrayal, a serpent in the grass, or torture, a shadow none can bypass. Some wounds, alas, by evil tongues are bought — poisoned whispers, carefully wrought. Words cut deeper than any blade, and leave the gaze forever stained. II. The Burning Within Then come the crimson tides, from bottles deeply drawn — a fiery solace, from dusk till dawn. In anger’s grip, a storm in the brain, or drunken frenzy to forget the pain. Each gulp, a silent, desperate plea to drown the demons — to simply be free. But clarity recedes like a ship lost at sea, and deeper shadows rise where light used to be. Red is the eye — not always from te...

  In halls once lit with learning's flame, Now silence groans beneath the shame. Where minds would bloom and futures rise, Now banners tear the open skies. The library's hush, once full of grace, Is drowned beneath the slogans' chase. Debates replaced with broken bones, And laughter traded in for stones. The desk where dreams would once begin, Now bears the scars of deeper sin. The chalk no longer writes the truth— It draws a line: "Us" versus "You." In every corner, colors clash, A flag, a fist, a sudden flash. No names are called, just sides are drawn, And morning dies before the dawn. The classroom door becomes a gate, To choose between love or hate. A slip of voice, a look, a word, Can make one disappear, unheard. Blood on steps, and quiet cries, Stare from eyes that hope denies. A photo on a hostel wall, A candle dimmed, a name too small. Leaders rise, then vanish fast, Martyrs made — their stories passed. But justice sleeps while speeches grow, And...