Fourlinegraphia

  I closed my books and softly sighed, Where once I walked with pomp and pride. A clever mind, both bright and bold, I knew what ancient stories told- Yet there I stood, with eyes grown wide, When she came stepping by my side! I twirled my moustache, fixed my hair, And tripped on stones that were not there! I cleared my throat to speak my piece, Hoping my sudden fright would cease; Yet all my lore and learned art Could teach me nothing of the heart. My companions laughed and started teasing: “Look at him sighing in the breeze! Is this the scholar, top of class, Now turned to jelly by a lass? A walking love letter, indeed, Whose own romance he cannot read!” And yet her glance was swift and true- She saw right through my foolish view. Her eyes replied, “Forget the art, And throw away your practiced part. Be gentle, honest, bright, and wise- The heart needs no clever disguise.” So now I join the festive sound, As drumbeats shake the village ground! With flute and dance, both young and...

Me-"Please, my little songbird, don't fly away, Don't leave your nest, my darling, today. The world beyond may seem endless and blue, But will it offer the shelter I gave you? Little bird, with wings so young, Have you forgotten the songs we sung? Will you vanish into the endless sky, Leaving behind the branches where dreams once lie? Remember the tree that sheltered your sleep, The roots that held when the storms ran deep. Will you abandon the shade that was yours, For distant skies and unfamiliar shores?" Song Bird-"But listen, my love, I have not forgotten The warmth of the nest where my dreams were born. I leave not because your love was untrue, But because there is a sky I must journey through. You gave me my wings, you taught me to fly, Yet never asked me how far I could try. Your love is the shade that will always remain, A shelter I'll cherish through sunshine and rain. I know that beyond these familiar trees, Darkness may rise with the restless breez...

  When first you crossed my trembling sight, A timid bird in morning light, No song had stirred your lips to sing, No grace had touched your folded wing. Like lotus buds at dawn you stood, A shy enchantment of the wood. But now, behold, how fair you seem, A vision woven from a dream. No longer bird of woodland bowers, You bloom in beauty’s fairest hours; The lyre rests within your hand, Its golden strings at your command. Each note you wake, each song you weave, Makes even silent hearts believe. Oh songbird girl, my heart’s desire, You are the music of my lyre. Oh, maiden of my dreams, come near, And grace my humble dwelling here. Descend where silver moonbeams fall, And make my home your own, my all. Let not your heart in longing roam, But find its peace within my home. Come, light the lamp beside my door, And let our souls seek shores no more. Here, in this quiet world of mine, Let love like sacred jasmine twine, Where wandering dreams at last may rest, And find their haven in yo...

Whenever pretty girls walk by, My heart takes off, I wonder why. One little glance, one passing smile, And I forget my way for a mile! When she's nearby, I stand up tall, But one “Hello” and I lose it all. I've got big dreams and a charming face, Yet shyness puts me in my place! At the metro station, I wait for the train, Hoping to see her again and again. The platform is crowded, the minutes crawl, I watch every face, but I look for one of all. The train doors open, the passengers flow, There she stands, and my heartbeat says, “Go!” I plan to approach her, determined and bold, Then the doors slide shut, and my story grows old! I've written love letters, a mountain of pages, Hidden my feelings in notebooks for ages. I've typed sweet messages, romantic and true, Then erased every word before sending to you. I've written you poems beneath the moonlight, Composed little songs in the silence of night. I've practised my confession a thousand times through, But fear a...

My grandfather gave me a watch one day, A golden chain, black hands that raced away. A little world encased in glass and gold, With countless untold stories to unfold. Its tiny hands ran faster than my own, Through waking dreams and nights I spent alone. And every tick that trembled through the night Seemed like a footstep vanishing from sight. It whispered softly, Life will not remain; Each passing hour is never yours again. The dates would change, the years would disappear, And time kept walking, indifferent to fear. Sometimes, to steal a little sleep from dawn, I turned its hands and made the hours crawl on. I thought if time could move a little slow, Perhaps my childhood would refuse to go. Then came the day I learned that I was wrong; No clock could make a fleeting moment long. I pushed its hands ahead, I turned them back, Yet life kept racing on its endless track. Some hours brought sorrow, some arrived with grace; Some left their scars, some lit a smiling face. The clock knew no...

Why am I rushing through the days I own, With thoughts that race like seeds too quickly sown? I overthink the path, the pace, the climb, And burn my spirit out before its time. *** A lonely traveler in a crowded room, My heart seeks love to chase away the gloom. It longs for warmth, a gentle, soft embrace, To find a home within this noisy space. *** Is all this inner flight and quiet stress A desperate pull toward your tenderness? Is it my soul that yearns to merge with you, To end this long and restless, stormy sea? *** My spirit races, hungry to unite, To melt its shadows in your holy love. This frantic speed is but a blind desire To reach the quiet flame of sacred fire. *** So let me stop and drop the heavy pace, And walk with silent strength and steady grace. I chew each moment now with quiet care, And breathe the stillness lingering in the air. *** Each morning as I drink the water slow, I let divine affection softly flow. I feel the healing light expand and start To touch each ce...

A sacred thread connects my roots to me, To every silver strand that time bestows; My hair holds stories of my ancestry, A strength that deep within my being grows. My hair is my minds power, bold and free, A crown of culture, care, and survival; It carries all my ancestors gave to me, Their strength and grace, their stories of revival. My kinky crown refuses to conform, It stands apart, embracing who I am; Through changing times, through calm and every storm, I wear my heritage with pride, without a sham. Even lying gently in the grass, My crown rests proudly, never losing power; For beauty is not something meant to pass, But strength that blooms within me every hour. And now, grey whispers mingle with the dark, Each silver strand reflects the years I've known; The folds upon my skin leave their own mark, A map of joys and tears that I have grown. Yet when I stand before the looking glass, I sometimes wish to colour silver hair, To brighten up my face as moments pass, To soften ag...