Fourlinegraphia

  There is nothing left to mark my passing, No name to carve upon enduring stone, No color left to stain the passing wind, No canvas waiting for me to return. The dreamer in me left without farewell, And wandered into forests of deep thought, Where silence grows like ancient, shaded trees And slept beneath the fallen, forgotten leaves. I searched for him through memories and nights, Through dark, quiet corridors of my mind, But only hollow echoes answered back. Time, the quiet poet, wrote his verse on me . The heartbeat of the earth grew soft and slow, As mountains kept what cities soon forgot, And rivers carried away empires' reflections As though their grand existence never was. The sky remained unchanged above our heads, Watching generations arrive in hope, Living with certainty in all they built, Only to depart without explanation. There is no ink to gather new colors, My trembling fingers can no longer guide A gentle brush to believe in beauty, Yet the blank canvas does not ac...

  My life is a map without landmarks, Its lines wandering past where they start, Moving beyond beginnings and ends, Yet I know an unexpected end in my heart. I stand beneath the scorching sun Of endless expectations held so high, As each footprint of my dissolving dreams Fades into the desert's quiet sigh. My deepest dreams ache beyond a mirage- Just close enough to keep me walking on, Yet far enough that I can never touch The distant promise before it is gone. My eyes remain fixed upon the void, Staring into the empty, endless space, While the burning wind steals my silent cry, Sweeping my voice away without a trace. I am a creature born of the desert heat, With a parched throat and weary frame, Wandering between illusion and hope, Searching for rain that remembers my name.

She was never a kingdom, yet they called her one. Not because she wore a crown, but because they dreamed of conquest. They traced invisible borders across the landscape of her body, counting her silence as surrender, mistaking her kindness for an open gate. To some, she was fertile land, a field where they hoped to plant their names, their pride, their legacy, believing love was another form of ownership. They built castles out of promises, raised flags stitched with desire, and wrote laws that praised devotion while quietly demanding obedience. They admired her beauty as kings admire a distant country- not for its songs, its rivers, or its people, but for the glory of possessing it. Yet beneath their maps flowed rivers they could not chart, and beneath their footsteps lay mountains that refused to bow. She learned that a heart is not a throne to be occupied, nor a soul a province to be taxed by another's will. So she gathered the names they had carved upon her, washed them away wi...

  The Solitary Road ****************** I have never walked this winding path before, Nor known what secrets wait on either shore. Before my eyes, the dusty road extends, Into the mist where sight and distance ends. *** Upon the clay, deep footprints mark the ground, Where time keeps watch in silence all around. Before my time, through shadows and through light, Unknown spirits walked into the night. *** Through steep ascents and rocks that bruise the feet, Past rusted iron spikes and blinding heat, I wander slow, with parched and burning lips, As sweat like drink from weary fingers drips. *** So many narrow lanes and shortcuts hide, Yet not a single sign to act as guide. But a weathered stone, worn down by wind and rain, Whispers to me amidst the steady pain: *** "The feet that climbed the mountain's highest peak, Will never fear the valleys, low and bleak." Some paths were paved with glitter, wealth, and praise, Some promised love to brighten weary days. *** Some left th...

  The border was a wound drawn across our blood, A sudden storm that stole the earth we knew. The rivers forgot the songs they once had sung, And the sky no longer felt like home or true. We left our doors, our gardens, and our names, Carrying only memories in our eyes. A home is not made only of walls and flames- It lives where a heart can safely rise. I walked away with nothing in my hand, Yet carried worlds that others could not see. The dust of my homeland followed every step, A silent shadow walking beside me. I became a pillar made of fragile clay, Holding a roof of borrowed skies above. I hid my wounds beneath a quiet smile, And gave my weakness the shape of love. They saw the lamp that brightened up their night, The hands that stitched their broken dreams again. They never saw the darkness inside my soul, Or counted all the tears hidden like rain. I became the river that never stopped flowing, Even when the stones had broken me. I gave my mornings to their tomorrow, And bur...

  The Haunting Search for the Lost **************************** Beneath a sky paved  bruised and heavy stone,   I walk the fragile light rope all alone.   The night may whisper doubts like winter wind,   Through forests where the silent shadows grow.   ***  Phantom weeds that choke the paths below,   I seek the ghosts of those who chose to flight.   Leaving my soul an ocean in the night,   A silent tide that no one dares to know.   *** My inner screen unmakes the dust of years,   I see myself, a child devoid of fears- Before the reel was warped by biting grief,   Like winter frost that kills the budding flower.   *** The bitter cold of loneliness may bite,   Yet in that cold, I find my guiding light.   Some memories decay like rusted steel,   Leaving a hollow ache I cannot heal.   *** While others cut like diamonds in my che...

  The Yoke of Empire ********************* Beneath the shadow of a foreign flag, The heavy chains of silent stories drag. With tired hands and broken dreams they weep, In lonely graves the world forgot to keep. *** Upon the shoulders of the weary man, The master sits to rule his fleeting span. One carries pride, and one must bear the chair, A frozen picture of a world unfair. *** The master wears a coat of shining thread, The servant walks where only shadows tread. Like deep roots trapped beneath a frozen clay, The common people bleed their lives away. *** The hands that built the mighty ocean fleet, Are left to die in dust upon the street. They stand like ancient banyan trees in the gale, Though bent by storms, their spirit will not fail. *** The ruler speaks of law and golden light, But builds his palace in the deepest night. A mother’s tear, an empty, barren field, Are painful truths that power tried to shield. *** The tyrant claims he owns the open sky, Because he trapped a bir...