Fourlinegraphia

  My love doesn’t know the word busy. When I care, I carve out the time, I rearrange my hours, my days, my life— because love is my highest climb. If I say I’m busy, it’s never with you, it’s never an excuse to turn away. When my heart is in it, I’ll burn through midnight just to stay. I’ve lived the lie of “too busy”before, I’ve swallowed the hurt, the endless wait. But now I see it for what it is— not schedule, but choice, not workload, but fate. Because I am not a busy lover. I am a present one, a calling one, a showing-up-no-matter-what one. My love keeps a place at the table, no matter how full the room is. So if someone says busy, I hear the truth between the lines: “I chose something else over you.” And that’s my cue to choose me, to love the way I deserve— without busy, only with fire.

  Once I was a tender sprout, born from the seed, A whisper of potential, a promise to grow. Dreams unfurled like emerald leaves in spring, Vivid and fragile, shimmering with hope’s glow.   A fragile hope, reaching toward the sun, Yearning for light, for warmth, for life’s embrace. But as the days passed, the shadows crept near, And now, those dreams have withered, fallen, undone—   Like leaves torn from branches by the cold wind, Fading into the silence of the passing seasons. A breathless ache beneath the surface— A longing for what once was, now just memories’ reasons.   Rain poured down—a blessing, a divine shower— Nurturing the soil, quenching the thirst of earth. Yet still, I felt the dryness, the silent hour, A parched soul longing for rebirth, for mirth.    The earth was rich, a nurturing embrace, A cradle of promise, a space to renew. But somehow, I lost my sacred place— A seedling that struggled, with roots untrue.   Perha...

 Like a colourful kite made of paper bright, My mind and I drift-untethered in flight. No string to guide, no anchor to bind, We sail with the restless winds of the mind.   Yet sometimes dark clouds begin to grow, Like shadows trailing where colours glow. Negative thoughts-like tangled thread- Snag my wings with a weight of dread.   They whisper doubts in a hollow tone, Turning bright skies to shades unknown. A storm of fears, of what-ifs spun, Threatening the flight that’s just begun.   The wind, at times, is gentle and warm, At others it strikes like a sudden storm. We twist and turn through the vast unknown, Seeking a calm we can call our own.   Amidst the chaos, a truth feels near: A tether need not be born of fear- But of hope, to steady and hold in place The fragile joy in the mind’s vast space.   Still, in this dance of fall and rise, There’s beauty beneath the troubled skies. For even a kite, though torn in fight, Can shimme...

In whispering woods I Chhind stand alone, A timeless witness carved in stone— Rooted deep where shadows dance, My heart beats slow in nature’s trance. I’ve felt the sun’s warm, golden kiss, The trembling dew, a quiet bliss; Known the sorrow, known the strife, The woven threads of fragile life. Children’s eyes like fireflies gleam, Flickering faint in hunger’s dream; Mothers bend with whispered prayers, Hope entwined in earth and air. Then she arrived—a gentle flame, Her soul untouched by greed or fame. Soft footsteps through the morning hush, A spirit calm, a sacred hush. Her cloak was simple, worn with grace, Unraveling the frantic pace. Light as feathers on the breeze, She lifted burdens with such ease. Patience rooted, deep and wide, Like ancient trees that never hide. She trusted rivers slow and sure, To shape the earth and hearts endure. In silent marches, legal fights, She bore the torch for juster rights. Her hands, a balm, her voice a song, A healing light to carry on. Daya—ki...

  In the quiet dawn of every day, I see in you a brighter way. A gentle strength within your soul, That makes the weary spirit whole. Your attitude, my guiding star, Shines steady, near or far. Like a lighthouse cutting through the storm, You keep the weary traveler warm. Your happiness, a sunlit bloom, Chases shadows from the gloom. It’s not from riches, gold, or fame, But from the heart that lights your name. Your optimism, a hopeful breeze, Sings softly through the forest trees. It lifts the soul to skies above, A soaring song of boundless love. Your kindness, gentle as the rain, Eases sorrow, soothes the pain. Like a blanket in the coldest night, You wrap the world in tender light. Your giving flows, a mighty stream, Turning wishes into dreams. In the open hands you always show, I see the seeds of love you sow. Your respect stands tall and true, An ancient  Champak in morning dew. It honors every soul you meet, With steady grace and quiet beat. All these gifts that live in...

  When I behold you after all these years, a quiet art awakens in the hushed chambers of my soul. We do not bleed when memory stirs— yet once, the wound spread deep through the silent architecture of my heart. What once softened in our sleep now lingers, a ghost lost in the corridors of time and space. We are left with scars— faint, tender inscriptions— testimonies of tempests, of shadowed nights. The body, wise in its forgetting, lets go, and pain becomes a trace: your name, a silent story etched upon my heart, the fingerprint of time’s grace. The heart’s old wounds—long sealed— once told their aching stories. Now, their pain lies buried, but beneath the bone, where the most fragile truths abide, another silence remains. The soul, too, bears its hidden marks— those we were taught to conceal. The parting left a subtle devastation, softened only by the long hush of years, by healing hands and unshed tears. Even the pain once sharp as breath has dulled in the slow passage of time. Wh...

  My world was a quiet room, The colors soft and gray. Then you walked in, a sudden bloom, And chased the doubt away. Only once, I truly believe, You meet a soul who makes you breathe In colors brighter, laughter deep— They stir the dreams you used to keep. I told you tales I’d never told, Of failures, dreams, and fears. You listened, a story to unfold, And dried away my tears. You speak aloud what you once hid, The hopes, the hurts, the things you did. They listen close, with open eyes, And see your truth without disguise. With you, a simple walk is gold, A whispered song, a treasure. The memories of new and old Are priceless beyond measure. No games are played, no need to prove, Just steady hearts that gently move Through silence, storms, or gentle breeze— Your presence brings a quiet ease. No need for words, a gentle hum, A quiet, certain peace. My heart, once guarded, now has come To find a sweet release. You open wide, despite the fear That love might one day disappear. But in...