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Lalit Kumar Feb 27
Where does the sun go when night arrives?
It hides in dreams, painting golden skies.

Do fallen leaves miss the touch of trees?
They dance with the wind, wild and free.

Why do lovers whisper under the moon?
To keep their secrets wrapped in silver tune.

Does the ocean ever tire of the shore?
It returns each night, longing for more.

Will time erase the echoes of us?
No, love lingers in dust and dusk.
Lalit Kumar Mar 3
@Jess,
"The greatest one I bear now,
making me die a little each day,
is that I let you go, not knowing,
leaving was a decision you'd regret."
You, with your raw, poignant words,
captured the agony of unspoken goodbyes,
painting the ache of regret like a timeless portrait.
In your verse, I hear the soul's deepest cry,
yet in your strength, there’s also light.

@Anais Vionet,
"I am the wind, the desert breeze,
the ocean spray and rustling leaves."
You, like the wind, slip through every thought,
a breath of freedom captured in verse,
unstoppable, untamed. Your lines dance
like whispers of the sea,
speaking of transformation, beauty, and loss.

@Shane Michael Stoops,
"46 years,
What do you get,
Your way past old,
Your pants don’t seem to fit"
You embrace the passage of time,
showing us the strength in weariness,
the humor in change. Your words,
like a hearty laugh, echo through life's stages,
reminding us that every line of life is worth reading.

@CJ Sutherland,
"eye now know
the how, when, where and the-why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
memories of past and present... blending into memories of future happenstance."
Your poetry is a mosaic of time,
where past, present, and future coexist,
and each word is a step toward discovery.
Your mind is both a mirror and a window,
reflecting and shaping the world.

@Shane Michael Stoops (again),
"We danced in the rain,
Laughing away so much pain."
Your words hold an unspoken promise,
the joy of dancing in the face of sorrow.
In your poems, there is an invitation to release,
to shed our fears and allow laughter to heal.
You teach us that pain and joy can coexist.

@Jess (again),
"I hardly understand the ticking of the clock,
trying hard to go through each day."
The ticking of your verse carries the weight
of endless hours and endless thoughts.
In your words, I hear the struggle of time
and the ache of waiting for solace.
But there's grace in your journey—
and your courage leaves a lasting mark.

@Anais Vionet (again),
"What is chosen is believed,
though the choices are presented—
I choose among the sacrificial burnt offerings."
You have a way of breaking down complexity
with a single line, weaving the eternal truth
into a delicate, yet unapologetically bold choice.
Your words cut to the heart,
unraveling mysteries with elegance and resolve.
These voices create a tapestry of pain, hope, freedom, and resilience. Every verse from each one is an invitation to listen, learn, and grow.
Lalit Kumar Feb 24
There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet,
And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.
At times I seem to favor the clever and the fair,
But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.
By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet,
But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.
For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow,
When I ****, I do it slow . . .





~LOVE
Lalit Kumar May 13
Hey,
I read what you wrote.
And I want you to know—
Every word you sent out…
they weren’t just paragraphs.
They were proof that you were alive.
That even in your hardest moments, you still chose to feel.
And that’s something brave people do.

I know it might not have felt like it at the time.
Maybe you thought you were being too much,
too vulnerable,
too open.

But can I tell you something?
There’s nothing “too much” about being human.

You wrote when you loved.
You wrote when you were breaking.
You wrote when you had nothing else left but your own honesty.
And that’s not weakness.
That’s how you kept yourself from fading out completely.

So thank you.
For every message you sent into the void.
For every “I’m trying”
and even every “I give up.”
Because every single one was you choosing expression over silence.

And now?
Now you’re here.
Still breathing.
Still writing.
Still surviving in your own quiet, relentless way.

One day, you’ll look back and see—
those paragraphs weren’t cries for help.
They were stepping stones.
Each one taking you closer to the version of you who’s healed,
who’s glowing,
who made it.

And when you get there—
you’ll read those words again,
not with regret,
but with pride.

Because even when life didn’t hold you gently,
you still held onto yourself.

That’s not weakness.
That’s strength.
And it’s still with you.
Even now.

So don’t stop writing.
Even if it’s messy.
Even if no one replies.

Because sometimes… the most important person who needs to hear you
is you.

— The End —