The clock’s slow hands release their grip,
A whispered breath begins to slip,
Through corridors of fading light,
Where shadows stretch to meet the night.

The week’s tight chains dissolve in air,
Like molten glass that melts with care,
Each task undone, a thread unspun,
The loom of time undone, begun.

A tide that lifts the anchored soul,
Unfurls the sails toward the whole,
Where moments drip like honeyed rain,
And silence hums a sweet refrain.

The pulse of hours quickens now,
As freedom’s seed takes root somehow,
Beneath the skin, a quiet fire,
A spark of vast, unspoken choir.

No longer bound by duty’s weight,
The mind escapes its narrow gate,
To wander fields where dreams convene,
In Friday’s glow, serene, unseen.

In sorrow’s night so deep and still,
A flame begins to spark and spill.
It hums of love, of ancient fire
That lifts us from the depths of mire.

The bee may sting, the skin may tear,
But deeper grows the heart’s repair.
For pain plants seeds that bloom in grace,
And loss can light a sacred space.

O soul, arise like golden rays,
And burn through fear’s encircling haze.
Let love ignite, let hope embrace–
A dance of dawn, a warm retrace.

Tread soft through woods where silence sings;
Feel earth’s calm breath beneath your wings.
Find roots below the floods and rain,
Where life still pulses through the pain.

Though dreams may bend, they do not break;
Our voices rise for justices’ sake.
We call the promise, far but clear–
A world where all are held sincere.

So guard this light within your chest,
A lantern in the night’s unrest.
Through struggle’s path, let hope remain–
For morning comes to crown our pain.

Heart is torn–  
Caught and worn.
Mind debates–
Is hope born?

Feelings race,
Lost in space.
Logic breaks
At fear’s embrace.

Dreams ignite,
Burn through night.
Thoughts collide,
Flee or fight.

Hope may sway,
Drift away.
Fear may lead
The soul astray.

Love will call,
Rise or fall?
Truth may bend,
But not be gone.

It holds us still,
Like dusk to dawn.
We bend, not break,
Till fear is gone.

If end is near–
Love or fear?
Mind and heart
At war, unclear.

Still from strife,
Bright sparks of life–
Blend or break?
Love or strife?

We speak of ends
As if they’re worst,
Yet breaking shows us
What comes first.

A hand to hold,
A vow to keep,
A soul that wakes
Instead of sleep.

If all must fall
And skies descend,
Let hearts not break,
But rise and mend.

If the world must fall,
Then let us stand–
Not with shields,
But hand in hand.

They said the stars were born of dust,
That life awoke by chance- not trust.
No hand to shape, no grand design,
Just atoms spinning, cold and blind.

They taught us all to chase the light,
To crown the mind, dethrone the night.
But stripped of soul, what did we find?
A clever beast. An empty mind.

No voice from heaven. No sacred law.
No seeing eye. No heart in awe.
Just bones that break. Just blood that dries.
And meaning lost beneath the skies.

Yet in the silence, something stays-
A whisper through our shadowed days:
"He sees you still, though no eye sees.
What you sow now returns to thee."

It is the line before the crime,
The pause, the weight, the edge of time-
The thought that sears, the fear, the flame:
There is a Judge- you’ll speak your name.

But cast that voice in silence out,
Replace it with the hunger’s shout,
And man will turn with sharpened claw,
To write his will as nature’s law.

He'll build machines, then break the sky,
And never once ask, "Tell me why?"
He'll sit on thrones of steel and fire,
With hollow heart and cold desire.

So science grows, but wisdom fades.
The lights shine bright, yet cast long shades.
And in their glare, we lose the thread-
Forget the living. Mourn the dead.

Let science serve, but not command.
Let knowledge walk, not seize the land.
For when the soul is left behind,
The mind becomes a cage, not mind.

So whisper still, O voice divine-
Be now our brake, our sacred line.
Not all is dust, not all in vain.
The truth remains: we rise again.

If the stars could speak through skies at night,
And every shimmer held a dream in light,
Would we dare to listen, still and long,
To find the place where all our hopes belong?

If the trees could walk the world with grace,
And share the stories rooted in each place,
Would we learn to honor leaf and ground,
And hear in silence how all life is bound?

If the oceans rose to voice their song,
Revealing secrets they’ve held deep and long,
Would we dive into their boundless blue,
And join the dance of life in something true?

If hearts could speak without a single sound,
And feelings lost were suddenly unbound,
Would love then bloom, unshackled, wide and tall,
And bind all souls together, one and all?

If tomorrow came with no more pain—
Just golden calm behind the passing rain—
Would we step forward, fearless, full of light,
And paint our lives in every color bright?

She walks unlit between the crowd,
A hush beneath the voices loud.
The hours bruise her open hands,
Bartering breath for small demands.

No desk, no page, no teacher's name—
Just lessons scraped from soot and flame.
Her dreams, like threadbare hems, unwind—
Too delicate for those half-blind.

They do not see the shape she bears—
A rootless bloom that learns to care
For scraps of sky, for drifting sound,
For silence in a world unbound.

The mirror offers her no script,
No birthright carved, no title gripped.
Yet in her chest, a slow-burned spark—
A vow that glows beneath the dark.

Outside, the banyan dares to stay,
Its limbs a home for those astray.
She sees herself in trunk and leaf—
A quiet spine, a growing grief.

What voice is hers, if none reply?
What name survives when none ask why?
Still she persists, unknown, unseen—
A bloom that breaks through concrete green.