What do you see, nurse, when you look at me?
A frail, weary man lost in time's endless sea?
Do you sigh as you dress me, as you lift, as you feed,
Thinking my silence is nothing but need?

Do you see only hands that tremble and shake,
A mind lost in shadows, a body that breaks?
Do you see the dim eyes, the slow, shuffling gait,
A soul out of time, just awaiting its fate?

Look deeper, dear nurse, beyond this old skin,
Past the wrinkles, the frailty, the world closing in.
For once, I was young, with fire in my chest,
A heart full of dreams, unburdened, unpressed.

I was a child, with laughter so bright,
Running through fields bathed in golden-hued light.
I was a lover, my pulse racing wild,
Holding her close, love's innocent child.

I was a father, strong, steadfast, and true,
Teaching small hands what life could undo.
I built and I shaped, I gave and I grew,
Watched them all flourish, then bid them adieu.

Now time plays its tricks, and my body betrays,
Yet inside I am dancing through long-ago days.
My spirit still soars, though my body is weak,
My voice still longs for the words it can't speak.

So look at me, nurse, not as fading, not done,
Not just a burden, not just anyone.
See the years, the love, the battles, the scars,
The dreams that still shine like forgotten stars.

For within this old man, there's a soul fierce and free,
If only you'd look, if only you'd see.

Play, like breath igniting life,
wild animal in the ribcage,
a flame caught in the pull of night's dark thread
it whispers the ancient hum,
not the hush of apology but the loud echo of galaxies.

Skin, soft as dust against stars,
glows in the ecstatic tension,
stretching out in the reckless curves of time.

We fall into it, unlearn gravity,
become architects of chaos, of sweat and laughter,
our bodies - maps with no borders.

Play, because touch is language,
a conversation of pulse and instinct,
where rules shatter beneath a storm of hands
and the air forgets the burden of propriety.

It is a dance of forgetting ourselves
and becoming animals, children, gods,
twisting in a place where no wrong exists,
just the physics of limbs, the art of madness,
and the permission to be undone.

*** is Play.

A game where the end doesn't matter,
only the fire of the moment,
the breaking of worlds in a glance,
a kiss that isn't an apology.

Here, we are infinite in the ache,
and we laugh, in the way only lovers do,
as we fall again,
naked in the chaos of everything.

A pulse beneath skin-raw,
a symphony of friction,
silent notes igniting,
unwritten, but felt.
Fingers trace electric rivers,
veins pulsing to the rhythm of need.

Sweat slicks the edges of memory,
lips unlearn what's been spoken,
our bodies becomes language,
where words are too clumsy to reach.

In the space between breath and release,
something breaks, something blooms,
old wounds, wounds no one touched,
heal in the friction.
Not the kind of healing you can bottle
or bless with holy water
this, the alchemy of skin and surrender,
the way hips speak in tongues
when the body writes its own scripture.

Here, love is less tender,
more molten,
shattering the cold stars
that once burned inside your bones.
This is a healing that doesn't ask permission
it claims, it devours, it demands
the undoing of all shame.

Feel it.
The rhythm is louder than your heartbeat now.

Melt like snow beneath a sunlit sky,
Let your burdens fade, let the old self die.
Each flake of sorrow, each shard of pride,
Softly dissolves as the streams confide.

Wash yourself from yourself, oh soul laid bare,
Find in the stillness a truth to declare.
The world will whisper, "Hold fast, don't yield,"
But love is not found in a fortress or shield.

It blooms in surrender, in silence profound,
In the space where no chains of the ego are bound.
Let the river cleanse what clings to the bone,
And hear the whispers of seeds you've sown.

Love, silent as a lily, takes root in your core,
No trumpet to herald, no need to implore.
Its petals unfold in the quiet of night,
A miracle formed in the absence of fight.

Not loud, not proud, not seeking the throne,
It thrives in a heart that has learned to atone.
Oh, let yourself vanish, dissolve in the stream,
For love is the dream within all other dreams.

The soul that releases, the self that refrains,
Shall find in its yielding what truly remains.
A garden eternal, where lilies reside,
Their fragrance a hymn to the love inside.

So melt like snow, and wash yourself free,
A vessel of grace for the vast, endless sea.
Let love grow quiet, yet steadfast and strong,
A lily's soft bloom is where you belong.

The stone in the road, sharp-edged, scraping the soles,
is it burden, or a shift in the wind?
A scream might rise, teeth bared against fate,
but listen closely, in its echo is the sound of wings.

The earth turns slow,
gravel underfoot bruises the skin,
but that sting, that ache,
is the pulse of the universe saying, Move.

The fall is not the breaking;
it is the breath that finds your lungs anew,
as you turn and twist into directions
you had never dreamed,
the unseen galaxies in your bones waking up.

The obstacle is the heartbeat of change,
a violent push, a whisper in disguise,
hurling you to a horizon you hadn’t thought to reach.
What you thought was in the way was only clearing it.

Oh, take me back to the velvet night,
Where peace was woven pure and tight.
Those hours held in simple grace,
With no regrets, no need to chase.

Before the tangled webs of thought,
When dreams were simple, unbesought,
And pillows held no secret cries,
Only the softest lullabies.

Take me back to tender years,
Before the haunt of hidden fears,
When stars above would kindly glow,
And let the restless mind let go.

Where every worry fled the scene,
And slumber rose, soft and serene.
I miss the hush, the childlike ease,
A silent drift upon night's breeze.

Now, thoughts unfold in endless scroll,
Whispers deep within the soul.
The mind, a maze, no rest in sight,
Bound tight, unraveling each night.

Take me back to softer lands,
Where calm would hold me by the hand,
And sleep was peace, and dreams were free,
Oh, take me back, take back that me.

(A Poetic Ode)

Beneath the amber skies of fall, we gather near the hearth,
A season's whisper beckons us, to honour what has worth.
The bounty spread upon the table gleams with autumn's hue,
Yet richer still, the wealth of hearts, in gratitude made true.

Oh, Thanksgiving, sacred pause, a hymn to life's delight,
You teach us how to cherish dawns and praise the velvet night.
The golden grains, the ripened fruit, the earth's abundant yield,
Remind us of the laboured hands that tilled each cherished field.

Not just the feast of sustenance, but nourishment of soul,
In giving thanks, our spirits bloom, becoming strong and whole.
We bow to love's eternal flame, to friendships forged in fire,
To dreams that rise like phoenix wings, ignited with desire.

The laughter of the young resounds, the wisdom of the old,
Together weaving memories, more precious than fine gold.
The stories shared around the flame, the blessings softly sung,
Bind us in a tender thread, no matter where we're flung.

Oh, gratitude, a gentle seed that blossoms into grace,
Transforming every moment into something we embrace.
Even in the shadows, there's a light that softly glows,
A quiet joy, a whispered peace that every heart bestows.

Thanksgiving is a sacred gift, a time to truly see,
The beauty in the simple things, the power of "we."
So let us raise our voices high, our thanks to heaven send,
For life, for love, for one another, gifts that never end.

There were words I loosed like doves in flame,
Believing then they sang my name.
They circled truths I thought were stone,
But time has taught me bone is bone.
It bends, it breaks, it mends anew,
And so, my thinking shifted too.

There were paths I carved with fervent feet,
Mistaking hunger for the heat.
I danced with shadows, dressed in pride,
I kissed ideals I now let slide.
Not out of shame, nor some disguise,
But from the way that wisdom sighs.

No, I wear no doubled face,
No costume stitched with sly disgrace.
I do not play at saint or sin,
But simply shed my older skin.
The soul, like sea, must ebb and swell,
What once was right may not still dwell.

Growth is not betrayal’s twin,
It is the echoing voice within.
That softens stone and clears the dust,
That asks, “What now deserves your trust?”
And so I rise, unchained from past,
Not fixed in marble, but made to last.

Judge me not by yesteryear,
But by the will that brought me here.
I bloom, I stumble, I redefine,
Each version still a thread of mine.
For even stars must shift their place,
And find new fire in endless space.

So let me change, and let it be,
A hymn to our humanity.
Not proof I’ve lost my truest hue,
But proof I’ve lived, and listened, too.

This is how you find your way,
Through shadows thick and skies of gray.
If you never try, you'll never see
The boundless strength that sets you free.

For buried deep within your soul,
A spark ignites to make you whole.
You'll never know how high you'll climb,
Until you dare defy the time.

The universe, so vast, aware,
Whispers softly, "I am there."
To hold, to guide, to help you soar,
To show you worlds and so much more.

The heart hesitates, the mind resists,
The unknown looms, a ghostly mist.
But in that haze, a gift may glow,
A promise of what you'll only know.

Uncertainty, a fearsome face,
Is but a mask for boundless space.
Each step you take, a door unfolds,
Revealing treasures your courage holds.

Infinite paths, untravelled bends,
Are laden with beginnings, not ends.
To grow, transform, expand, receive,
The unknown gifts when you believe.

So heed the pull, that whispered call,
Risk the stumble, risk the fall.
For dreams that linger, long untried,
Are seeds of magic waiting inside.

The path ahead, though veiled in mist,
Holds answers to the questions missed.
It's not so scary, not so wild,
It's the playground of your inner child.

So step into the vast unknown,
And claim the life that's truly your own.
For maybe, just maybe, this path you seek,
Is where your soul learns how to speak.

Strip the room bare, piece by piece,
watch the air expand into spaces once filled,
a vase, a chair, the clock that hummed silently,
gone. Now the walls throb with absence.

We've been taught to mourn the missing,
but the empty frame sharpens the portrait,
its lines more fierce, its colours more certain.

What remains throbs, louder now,
the weight of each remaining thing grows.
A book, once ignored, beckons.
Chairs seem taller, proud in their vacancy.

Holding the shape of those who sat
but are no longer sitting. The chessboard's grid,
no longer a decoration, asks for fingers,
begs for strategy, begs to matter.

Loss pulls at us, but what if it also clarifies?
We are creatures who forget to notice,
until the ground shifts and we see
not the void, but the survivors.

The gaps sing with an intensity,
that can only exist in the space of subtraction.
The fewer the notes, the more the music hums,
in the tight, trembling air.

In the emptiness, what remains isn't just what is left
it is louder, sharper, significant in ways
we were too crowded to feel before.
In loss, we gain a new vision, where what stays
demands our gaze and commands a deeper gravity.

What we lose in breadth, we gain in depth.
The light that falls on what is left
glows with the weight of what has gone.

All the hidden wounds will heal one day,
like whispers lost in morning's ray.
The silent ache, the uncried tears,
will vanish with the passing years.

The scars will fade, their stories dim,
like echoes sung in twilight's hymn.
No longer will the past hold tight,
for love will bathe you in its light.

The pain will bow, then take its leave,
no longer shadows heave and weave.
No longer storms will haunt your skies,
but gentle dawns with golden eyes.

And happiness, so soft, so true,
will bloom within, will dance with you.
A guest no more, but home to stay,
to paint your heart in hues of May.

For you were made for love alone,
not endless nights of ache and stone.
Your heart was shaped by hands divine,
a sacred place where stars align.

So hush, dear soul, the time will come
when sorrow sings its final drum.
And love will stand, arms open wide,
to claim its place, forever inside.

Oh, tender balm, the sweetest art,
A force unseen that mends the heart,
Through whispered winds and golden light,
Love heals the wounds of endless night.

Its touch is soft, yet deeply sure,
A salve for pain no time could cure.
In every glance, in every sigh,
It weaves a bridge where sorrows lie.

Beneath the shadows, cold and deep,
Where silent fears and heartbreaks sleep,
Love stirs the soul, ignites the flame,
And teaches us we're not to blame.

It breaks the chains of loss and woe,
Through gentle streams, it bids us grow.
A symphony of hope it plays,
And paints with grace the darkest days.

When grief has silenced all our songs,
And life feels cruel, unjust, and wrong,
Love bends the air with soft refrain,
And fills the cracks with joy again.

It dwells in hands that hold with care,
In every prayer, in every stare.
In laughter shared and tears that flow,
Love whispers, "Child, you're not alone."

Its healing power transcends the scars,
Unites the earth, connects the stars.
A boundless force, it knows no end,
A steadfast guide, a truest friend.

Through love, the shattered heart is whole,
It breathes new life into the soul.
Oh, sacred cure, eternal grace,
The healer time cannot replace.

For love is more than fleeting bliss;
It lives in every tender kiss,
In acts of kindness, pure and true,
The healing of love renews, anew.

A child's cry splits the midnight air,
shattered glass, the scent of despair.
The streets once humming with songs and trade
now echo with the ghosts war has made.

The sky is bruised, blackened with flame,
a mother wails, calls out a name.
But silence swallows, dust and stone,
a city turned to blood and bone.

Where laughter danced in alleyways,
now sorrow clings to broken days.
Olive trees, once kissed by light,
stand charred and twisted in the night.

A father kneels by what remains,
hands trembling, whispering names.
His house is gone, his hands hold air,
his heart beats on, though nothing's there.

The sea still sways, the tide still turns,
though every home in darkness burns.
The stars look down, they do not weep,
while children lie in dreamless sleep.

A schoolyard once alive with play
now pools with tears at break of day.
The market stalls, the sacred ground,
all crumbled now, no voices sound.

Yet even here, amid the ash,
hope still flickers, whispers past.
A mother lifts her weary hand,
plants a seed in stolen land.

For one day, when the guns are gone,
when war's dark shadow meets the dawn.
This earth will bloom, this land will rise,
and peace will shine in children's eyes.

I close the book, its spine sighs shut,
the whisper of a thousand nights drawn in.
A chapter folds like hands in prayer,
but not all endings are so clean.

The lantern dims. The room forgets.
Yet on my fingers, dusk still clings,
not with fire, but with a bruise,
of words that bled with shaken wings.

I turned the page; it turned me back,
a mirror’s glance, a hollow swell.
The tale is done, but silence keeps,
what ink refuses to quell.

The parchment sleeps, but I remain
marked by the shadows love once wore.
We name it "past", but past is ink,
and ink remembers so much more.

So let the book stay closed awhile,
beneath the dust, beneath the rain.
The lines may fade, but not the ache,
of what was written in hurried vein.

It's the fire no ocean could quell,
a heat beneath skin, searing
through every pulse, an electric hum
of being alive in the presence of another.

Love is an uncharted storm
raging quietly in the veins;
no hands can grasp it,
no mind contain it,
it slips, shifts, floods every silence
with the whisper of its impossible need.

And yet, it's delicate, too;
the breath that catches
between words,
the glance that folds
time upon itself.
It's in the empty space
between bodies
where all things combust
and surrender.

It breaks you open,
but it's the breaking
that keeps you whole.
It's the longing that lives
inside you forever,
a flame that neither ends
nor begins;
just burns. And burns.
Because love is always too much,
but never enough.

In a room where shadows stretched like sighs,
Where time wore slippers and whispered lies,
There stood a soul, not born, but built,
Threaded not from ease, but quilted guilt,
Not soft by chance, but choice refined,
By all the jagged things behind.

She walked where tempests cracked the sky,
Where childhood dreams went soft and dry,
Where harsh words bruised like winter sleet,
Yet still she offered something sweet.
Not sugar spun from naivety,
But honey from a wisdom tree.

For kindness, see, is not a gift
Wrapped neat in bows and morning lift,
It’s forged in fire, steeped in rain,
Tempered in sorrow, kissed by pain.
It’s choosing light with eyes gone dim,
And humming hope when edges grim.

She smiles not out of ignorance,
But as rebellion. As a dance.
As a thumb pressed gently in the eye
Of every grief that whispered: Why?

She learned to bloom where nothing grew,
To soften sharpness, split in two,
And still she laughed. And still she gave.
And still she found more hearts to save.

The kindest souls are not naive,
They know how often people leave,
How promises can turn to smoke,
Yet still, they mend the ones who broke.

So if you meet one - bless the thread
That stitched their wounds and raised their head.
They are the lanterns, fierce and bright,
Born not in ease, but in the night.

I. On the Nature of Smiles
A smile is a sneaky, invisible thing,
It creeps from the lips without flutter or wing,
But lo! when it lands on a stranger’s dull day,
It tickles the sorrow and shoos it away.

It travels through coffee shops, crosswalks, and queues,
It softens the sternest of daily-day news.
It has no real price, no receipt, no command,
And yet it could cradle the world in its hand.

II. The Grand and Glorious Hug
Now don’t underestimate (please, if you can)
The power of arms - be ye woman or man,
To wrap someone up like a parcel of peace,
To hush all the mayhem and grant them release.

A hug isn’t just for when sorrow attacks,
It’s also for moments when courage just lacks.
So squeeze with conviction, be warm, be profound,
A hug is a poem that needs not a sound.

III. Words of the Small-but-Mighty Kind
“Oh dear,” said the teacup, “I fear I may chip,”
Till a kind word arrived with a stiff upper lip.
“You're perfect,” it said. “You still hold the tea.”
And the teacup beamed back with revived dignity.

A phrase, just a whisper, can shatter the storm,
Can nudge someone’s heart back to hopeful and warm.
So toss kind words freely like petals or rain,
They land where they land, and they soften the pain.

IV. The Call to Now (and Never to Wait)
Oh yes, you may ponder, you may delay,
But kindness, my dear, was never that way.
It’s not for tomorrow or someday or soon,
It thrives in the morning, the dusk, and the noon.

So don’t be a waiter in life’s busy line,
Be wildly, ridiculously, wonderfully kind.
You never shall know what your ripple will do,
But I promise you this: it starts right with you.

Tears,
they carry weight,
more than saltwater breaking the dam—
they are the liquid syntax of our soul.

Unspoken words
blur the edges of vision,
and we tremble, not from weakness,
but from the quake of something deeper,
a chasm opening wide.

Sadness. Overwhelm. Rage. Joy.
It all pools into one common thread
invisible until it spills
across our cheeks.

Yet, society fears this flood,
as if emotions shouldn't break the surface.
We wear our stoicism like armour,
but real strength is in the unraveling.
In the wet confession
we try to blink away.

To cry is to translate
what words could never say,
to let the body speak
its native tongue,
pure, raw, unrefined.

Don't shut the floodgates.
Tears know the way.
They navigate the jagged landscapes
of grief, of joy, of loss, of rage,
dripping into the open wounds
we pretend are healed.

They tell us what we refuse to hear,
so we bow to them,
not in defeat, but in reverence,
for every tear is an offering
of truth we cannot bear alone.

I have walked through evenings bent with silence,
where the hush of the streetlamp hums my name,
a hero, perhaps, in the whisper of one,
a villain in the frown of another.

I have been carved in shadows by the wary,
painted golden by the kind.
To some, I am a tempest in an unmade room,
to others, the hush of rain against glass.

Was it not yesterday I was brave,
standing tall in borrowed boots,
tilting at windmills with a fool's delight?
And yet, in another's eye, I trembled,
a thing too soft for the weight of days.

Oh, but how I have been too much!
A song sung sharp at the wrong table,
a fire burning too close to brittle walls.
And yet, to some, I have been warmth,
the quiet pulse of a lighthouse on tired waters.

I have been named.
Carved into stories I did not write.
Draped in colours I never chose.
Told where to stand, when to bow,
but the stage shifts beneath my feet.

The world is a house of mirrors,
each face a different truth,
each window another version of me.

So let me laugh at the fickle tide,
let me dance in the winds of contradiction,
let me live - oh, let me live!
not as the world sculpts me to be,
but as the wild, wandering shape of my own heart.

The mirror splits,
shattering the myth of who you think you are,
shards of self-reflection scattered across the floor.
Each sliver, a truth, biting and blood-stained,
but you stand there, fists unclenched,
eyes wide open.

Growth comes crawling on jagged knees,
this is not a clean ascent,
no golden stairs to carry you up.
It's a wrestle with ghosts,
the ones you've buried with heavy hands,
with silence, with denial.

You cannot flee this reckoning,
the walls close in like truth's rib cage,
breathing you in.
But to run is to shrink,
to fold yourself back into the cocoon of lies
that feels like safety,
but is nothing more than a beautiful cage.

What you accept,
what you let press its weight against your bones,
it cracks you open,
stretching your spine towards a brutal freedom.

The light gets sharper the deeper you go,
splitting skin, unraveling narratives.
You grow only as far as you dare to fall,
not down, but inward.

The cosmos breathes through your silken thread,
A shimmer stitched where starlight treads,
Each breath you take, a hush, a spark,
A song begun within the dark.

You walk, a lantern born of flame,
Yet hold no boast, nor cry your name;
The hush of galaxies leans in,
To hear your soul’s light stir the wind.

You are not small, though stars are grand,
You are the pulse in the sky’s own hand.
A symphony that dares to rise,
From silence, into sacred skies.

Let morning crown your brow with fire,
And let your gaze the heavens inspire,
For God in shadow, dust, and hue,
Finds voice and rhythm, here, in you.

In shadowed alleys where secrets dwell,
A city's pulse, its mournful knell,
The Penguin rises, cloaked in night,
A figure cast in shadows' light.

Born of Gotham's grit and grime,
A creature formed by crime's hard line,
His heart, a fortress, chilled and stark,
His path is paved through midnight's dark.

With clever mind and ruthless hand,
He carves his name upon the land,
A broken soul with sharp, keen edge,
Against the world, he makes his pledge.

For power's flame, he burns his past,
A king of ashes, first and last.
Where empires crumble, he will rise,
A cunning crow, with vulture's eyes.

Through schemes and whispers, deals and deeds,
He dances where ambition leads,
A tragedy, yet bold and strong,
In shadowed halls where he belongs.

So, watch him tread this twisted path,
Through webs of spite and Gotham's wrath.
The Penguin - not pure, nor free,
Yet bound to fate eternally.

In shadows deep, his story lies,
A legend birthed beneath gray skies.

Your mind, a canvas vast and wide,
Paints the world with thoughts inside.
It searches far, it seeks the clues,
To prove the stories that you choose.

If shadows speak, "No light for me,"
Your mind will find the dark to see,
And every cloud, and every storm,
Will only serve to reinforce this norm.

But whisper soft, "Hope finds a way,"
And watch how dawn transforms the day.
Your mind, like soil, will nurture seeds,
Of brighter thoughts, of kinder deeds.

For in the garden of the soul,
What you believe will shape the whole.
So plant with care, and tend with grace,
The thoughts that bloom will fill your space.

The power's yours, with each new breath,
To choose belief, to conquer death.
Of dreams once lost, or hopes turned gray,
For your own thoughts will light the way.

So speak with wisdom, mind your voice,
For what you tell it shapes your choice.
In every word, in every line,
The proof you seek is yours to find.

There's a moment not a second in time, but a shift,
a break from the tug-of-war with the world,
where you stop begging for scraps of approval
and instead, become the feast.

You shed the weight of waiting,
the self that bent for someone else's gaze,
and you stand, naked in your truth
anointed by your own hands.

This is where it begins.
Not the hustle, not the hunger,
but the fullness of presence,
the light that once flickered inside you
now roars, unchecked, a wildfire of enoughness.

No more running from mirrors
or molding yourself into what they might love.
No more thirsting for the gaze of others
as though it could define the edges of your worth.
Instead, you shape yourself,
hold yourself, be with yourself.

In this stillness,
the world finally takes notice.
Not of what you chased, but what you are.
Suddenly, the current pulls toward you
people who don't just fit into your life,
but match your rhythm, your pulse, your fire.

The striving, the forcing, it all fades.
Instead, there's flow,
the universe turning on its axis,
slowly bending toward the centre you've found within.

And what once felt distant,
something to earn with sweat and sacrifice,
now arrives, effortless in its timing,
perfect in its place.

You don't rise to meet the world
the world rises to meet you.

And everything that matters
falls into step with the beat of your becoming.
Because the light inside you is no longer a flicker.
It's a sun,
and the whole world blooms beneath it.

Life is beauty, and life is pain,
a dance of loss, a song of gain.
It shimmers gold, then fades to gray,
a fleeting dawn, a waning day.

It lifts us high with whispered bliss,
soft lips that touch, a lover's kiss.
Yet breaks us, bends us, tests our will,
a mountain steep, a climb uphill.

It thrills, it aches, it sparks, it wanes,
it hums in blood, it roars in veins.
It is laughter, it is weeping,
a waking dream, a midnight creeping.

It is the light that warms the skin,
the fear of losing all within.
It is the hand that pulls you near,
the shadowed doubts, the strangling fear.

It is the mundane, the slow, the still,
the silent hours, the quiet will.
It is the rush, the reckless run,
the roaring fire, the setting sun.

Yet if we never knew the fall,
would heights be precious things at all?
If never lost in tempest deep,
would peace be something worth to keep?

The jagged path, the winding lane,
the burning loss, the hard-won gain,
they carve the heart, they shape the soul,
they make the fractured spirit whole.

So let us rise, though winds may chide,
embrace the waves, the turning tide.
For life's not meant to be a line,
its peaks and valleys make it shine.

When the weight of the world wraps tight round your chest,
And the days blur with ache, with no time to rest.
When the mind is a maze, and the breath feels thin,
And life drums too loud beneath trembling skin.

Pause...

Let the frantic pulse soften, the whirlwind grow still,
There’s no prize for the climb when it shatters your will.
This body, this heart, this soul made of grace,
Was not born to outrun some invisible race.

The throb in your temples, the twist in your gut,
The nights spent awake, mind slammed quickly shut.
These are whispers, not weakness, a plea from within,
“Be gentle, be kind. Let soft love begin.”

The world will not crumble if you step aside,
To breathe, to be quiet, to let stillness abide.
You are not lazy for tending your flame,
You are sacred and strong, not a cog in a game.

So cradle your fears like a child in your arms,
Speak softly to pain, disarm its alarms.
Rest is a right, not something to earn,
It’s the hearth of your healing, the place you return.

For stress may steal minutes, and wear on the soul,
But kindness and care can make broken things whole.
The bravest of hearts are the ones that confess,
“I need to slow down. I’m weary. I’ll rest.”

So lie in the stillness, let worries be few,
The most beautiful promise begins now with you.

In the stillness of your mind, truth hums,
A whisper in shadows, where silence drums.
It lingers softly, a quiet refrain,
Nestled in corners of joy and pain.

It waits in the pit where instincts dwell,
A weight on your chest, a story to tell.
You push, you pull, yet there it stays,
Threading your nights and haunting your days.

To know is a blade that cuts so deep,
Through veils of denial, through restless sleep.
Yet knowing alone is a hollow key,
Until you accept what's meant to be.

Acceptance, a bridge so fraught with demand,
It asks for your courage, a trembling stand.
It calls for release of the things you've held,
The hopes that have bound you, the fears you've quelled.

Change looms like a tempest, fierce and wide,
But within it, strength will always reside.
The answer is etched, carved into your soul,
Not a fragment, but the whole of the whole.

Still, you stall, you bargain for time,
For proof, for signs, for stars to align.
But beneath it all, the truth is clear,
Its voice grows louder, ever near.

To surrender is not to bow or break,
But to rise with the courage your heart will make.
For the strength you seek is already there,
In the depths of your being, waiting to dare.

So step through the fire, embrace the flame,
Let knowing and accepting become the same.
On the other side, you'll find your way,
Lit by the truth you faced today.

Risk more than required; let your spirit take flight,
Step boldly through shadows to summon the light.
Learn more than is normal; let curiosity reign,
Each question a treasure, each answer your gain.

Be strong in the tempests, steadfast in the gale,
Show courage when faltering hearts might fail.
Breathe deeply, with purpose, in stillness, in storm,
Excel with your essence, rewrite the norm.

Love fiercely, for love reshapes the mundane,
Lead brightly, a beacon through joy and through pain.
Speak your truth, even when silence prevails,
Live your values, a compass when certainty fails.

Laugh with abandon, let joy fill the air,
Cry without shame, for your soul to repair.
Innovate boldly, let new paths arise,
Simplify wisely, see through the disguise.

Adore mastery; seek it in art and in skill,
Release mediocrity; bend life to your will.
Aim for genius, where brilliance ignites,
Stay humble in triumph, shun ego's heights.

Be kinder than needed, let warmth overflow,
Deliver abundance, let generosity grow.
Exude passion, let fire blaze in your eyes,
Shatter your limits, let your spirit surprise.

Transcend your fears, unshackle your soul,
Inspire by bigness, make others feel whole.
Dream grandly, but start with a seed in the earth,
Act now, without pause, give each moment its worth.

Don't stop; let persistence carve through the stone,
Change the world, and make its wonder your own.
For being amazing is a life that you weave,
A tapestry spun from all you believe.

The day fell like a crumpled note,
tossed into the wastebasket of time,
a whisper, a cough, a footstep fading,
the sound of nothing,
the echo of things left unsaid.

I walked through streets without pavement,
over stones that remembered me not.
Each window was an eye, unblinking,
a stare of glass indifferent to grief.

The wind pressed against my cheek,
not a caress, not a blow,
just a presence,
like the weight of a name no longer called.

I did not weep, though my heart did,
a different kind of pain,
a betrayal of the body's rituals.

Tears demand permission,
but silence sneaks in, unbidden,
settles between the ribs,
lodges behind the throat,
a ghost pressing against the edges of breath.

And so the hours unravelled,
like a frayed sleeve in a forgotten coat,
threadbare, loose at the seams,
and still I walked,
searching for the shape of sorrow,
in the absence of rain.

Night came in its sensible shoes,
soft-footed, practical, gray.
No stars, no moon,
only the hum of a world
that did not know I was breaking.

I sat on the edge of the bed,
hands resting like relics on my knees.
And the heart wept again,
as it always does,
quietly,
where no one can see.

In the quiet hum of a world that rushes,
Where footfalls echo on broken stone,
A voice still sings in the hush of hushes,
A heart still beats, though left alone.

Oh, cruel hands of time and trial,
They twist, they turn, they seek to mold,
Yet something lingers, tender, vital,
A warmth untouched by bitter cold.

The world, in its grumble, its clatter, its din,
Would etch its sorrow upon your skin,
Would carve you sharp, would make you steel,
Would teach you nevermore to feel.

But hush, dear soul, and hold your ground,
Let not the world make you unkind,
For in the hush of love profound,
Softness reigns, yet never blind.

Take pride in light the world denies,
In sugar spun from sorrow’s thread,
In laughter ringing under skies,
That some might call a dream long dead.

Oh, wear your sweetness like the dawn,
Let cynics sneer, let shadows call,
For even when the world moves on,
A heart that loves outlives them all.

In shadowed streets where silence weeps,
And echoes chase the feet of time,
A whisper hums where sorrow sleeps,
“Stay soft,” it sings, “though life may climb
Its thorn-wrought walls and break your skin,
Do not let hardness settle in.”

For pain may press with quiet might,
May twist the dawn into the night,
But you, dear soul, are not your ache,
Not every bruise, not every break.
You are the hush between the rain,
The breath that rises after pain.

So let it hurt. Let teardrops fall
Like silver bells down sorrow’s wall.
Let it swell and let it sting,
Grief is a wild, untamed thing.
But let it heal. The heart, it knows
How even shattered gardens grow.

And when the ache begins to fade,
Like fog dissolved by morning’s blade,
Let it go—release its hold,
The stories pain has tried to mold.
You are more than what you bear,
A flame still dancing through despair.

So rise, as mist that greets the sun,
As rivers do when thaw has come.
Rise soft, rise fierce, rise with your grace,
The world may harden—but not your face.
Smile with the soul that’s weathered through,
There’s still a bloom inside of you.

They called you kind, a gentle soul,
Soft as petals, sweet and whole.
You bore the weight of every storm,
A refuge where the ruthless swarm.

You folded yourself in careful lines,
Shrank to fit their grand designs.
Smiled through wounds they couldn't see,
Convinced that love meant loyalty.

But kindness should not taste like chains,
Nor drown beneath another's pains.
To give is grace, but not to lose,
The voice, the light, the right to choose.

Why must your comfort come last in line?
Why must you dim so they may shine?
A heart so vast, yet bound so tight,
A sky eclipsed to spare the night.

No more. No more the whispered "yes,"
That bends your spine in self-duress.
No more apologies for thin air,
For taking space, for standing there.

To choose yourself is not unkind,
Not cruel, not selfish, just aligned.
Boundaries drawn with steady hands,
Are sacred vows, not harsh demands.

And those who love you, who truly see,
Will bless your rise, will set you free.
The rest will fall, like autumn leaves,
Carried off on silent eves.

So stand, unshaken, bold and true,
Unbowed by guilt they place on you.
For peace is not in being small,
It's daring, fully, to be your all.

In the sweetness of friendship, a light softly glows,
A warmth that the heart in its stillness well knows.
Let there be laughter, like a song on the breeze,
A melody whispered through sun-dappled trees.

For in this communion, life's burdens grow light,
Shared joys become stars that illumine the night.
The pleasure of moments, both simple and rare,
Is a treasure we gather with love's tender care.

A smile exchanged in the quiet of dawn,
A word that rekindles when hope seems withdrawn.
Like the dew on the petals at morning's first gleam,
Friendship revives us, a comforting dream.

Not in the grandeur of triumphs we find,
But in the small joys, the unspoken kind.
The clasp of a hand, the glint of an eye,
The laughter that dances, unchained to the sky.

These little things, a glance, a shared cup of tea,
Are pearls in the ocean of life's mystery.
Each droplet of kindness, a balm for the soul,
Each moment of laughter, a piece of the whole.

And as dew on the meadow, it quietly heals,
The heart finds its morning in all that it feels.
A freshness, a vigor, a life redefined,
Through friendship's pure sweetness, our spirits aligned.

So let us give laughter, and pleasures, and more,
A refuge, a haven, an open heart's door.
For in these small wonders, our joy is expressed,
In the sweetness of friendship, the soul is at rest.

What if I told you, in hush not heard, but felt,
That the ache you name as longing
is the echo of a promise kept?
Not in some far-off fortune,
but in a chamber of the Now
where time folds in upon itself
like linen soft with memory.

You want it deeply, don't you?
That golden glint behind your ribs,
the ache that doesn’t bruise but burns,
not a wound, but a whisper.
It is not born of lack.
It is the future’s fragrant breath
blooming backward into your soul.

These aren’t dreams, my love,
they are breadcrumbs dropped
by a wiser You who’s already danced
through that doorway,
wearing the life you crave
like sunlight wears the morning.

Intuition isn’t guessing,
it’s remembering,
as the river remembers the sea.
Desire is not begging,
it is recognition,
a soul pointing to its own reflection
just beyond the veil.

So walk like it’s yours.
Breathe it. Speak it.
Dress your days in its colour.
Let the vision not be a someday shrine
but a mirror, a map, a marrow.

Because what you want is not ahead,
it is within,
waiting only
to be believed in.

You’ve wandered long through shadowed lands,
With trembling heart and open hands,
The clocks spun slow, the sky turned grey,
Yet still, you rose to meet the day.

A thousand questions marked your pace,
Who am I now? What is this place?
But hush - the wind, it softly knows,
The soul still grows, the spirit flows.

You wore your grief like autumn’s coat,
Then shed it when the spring took note.
The stars watched on with patient eyes,
As you began to reorganize.

Your path, your pace, your whispered dreams,
No longer bound to old regimes.
You dared to laugh, to love, to try,
Beneath a less familiar sky.

And though you walk with aching feet,
The journey’s song is bittersweet.
You are not lost - you’re being led,
By threads of gold the Fates have spread.

So question all! The love, the lore,
The quiet "why," the distant shore.
You’re not alone - just newly found,
Among kind hearts, profound and sound.

Step forward now with trust, with grace,
The future waits to know your face.
For all that’s past is not yet gone,
You’re just becoming who you’ve been all along.

In the hush before the kettle sings,
Where morning drips from silver strings,
And sunbeams crawl on the windowsill,
Time pauses… just long enough to fill.

Do not - dear dreamer - slip back to grey,
Where thought loops tight in tangled fray.
Wake up! The world is softly grand,
A teacup trembling in your hand.

Gratitude tiptoes in bare, sweet feet,
Through toast crumbs, yawns, and tangled sheets.
She wears no crown, she needs no fame,
Yet all she touches finds its name.

Be kind - yes, even to the bee
That circles twice, then lets you be.
Be kind to traffic, to aching knees,
To grumpy clouds and stubborn trees.

The cosmos spins, a silent tune,
One minute sun, the next a moon.
Life changes coats - velvet, then threadbare,
It dances swift through shifting air.

So don’t get caught in grumble’s snare,
Or overthink the crooked stair.
The rose is best just smelled, not solved,
And mysteries are best evolved.

Bless the moment - the spoon, the sigh,
The way your laughter splits the sky.
A whisper floats: Be still. Be here.
The sacred hides in the simple, so near.

You do not see it? No, not yet,
But hush, lean in, the air is wet,
with murmurs soft, with silent schemes,
A ripple forming in your dreams.

Somewhere beyond the measured mind,
Beyond the clock, beyond the blind,
A current stirs, a tether tugs,
Unseen hands through unseen rugs.

Weaving fate with thread so fine,
You'd miss it in the light of time,
The logic-bound may doubt and jest,
May clutch the past against their chest.

Yet in your bones, the echo hums,
The quiet cadence - something comes.
A nudge, a note, a feather's fall,
The syncopated cosmic call.

The shifting sky, the bending air,
A path where none was ever there,
And what are you to do, but stay?
Not chase, not plead, not force the way.

But open wide, unclench, undo,
Make space for what is meant for you.
The weight you've borne, the tales now old,
The rusted keys, the hands too cold.

Let them slip, let them fade,
Let the past be past, unmade.
For soon - yes, soon, you'll turn to see,
The tangled threads unwound, set free.

The map that once refused to show
Was drawn by steps you didn't know.
The hush will break, the sky will part,
What's meant for you will meet your heart.

And you will stand where time aligns,
Where fate and trust have intertwined,
And in that moment, bright and true,
You'll smile and say, "I always knew".

I do not know what waits beyond
This pale horizon’s shifting seam,
The road is fog, the stars are gone,
Yet still I follow some old dream.

No map, no mark, no prophet’s voice,
No compass etched in stone or sky,
Just breath and hush, a wavering choice,
To walk, though every reason asks me why.

Each footfall hums a softer tune,
Not brave, not bold, but something near,
A whisper shaped beneath the moon,
Not “Go,” but simply, “Still be here.”

And is that not what hope becomes,
A rhythm carried in the chest?
Not knowing where the morning drums,
But rising still, and doing our best.

So let the dark be what it is,
A cloak, a gate, a sea unspun,
My soul has learned the art of this,
To step, not seeing, toward the sun.

For poetry walks where language breaks,
In silences the heart completes,
Each step a faith the future takes,
Though blind, the path beneath me speaks.

Those clouds of life, how they gather near,
Carrying whispers of joy and fear.
Billowing dreams in the vast unknown,
Soft as a sigh, or sharp as a stone.

In silver hues, they cradle the sun,
A promise of light when the shadows run.
Yet in their grey, a storm may brew,
A tempest fierce, or a gentle dew.

They drift on winds both wild and still,
Over valleys deep and the steadfast hill.
Some bring sorrow, a heavy rain,
A torrent of tears, a season of pain.

But others weave in the azure sky,
Shaped like laughter, as they float by.
They are the canvas of hope's embrace,
Each streak of gold a radiant trace.

For clouds, though fleeting, paint the way,
A mirror of night, a herald of day.
They speak of change, of paths untread,
Of dreams unspoken, of words unsaid.

Those clouds of life, with their shifting form,
Teach us to dance through the fiercest storm.
To see in darkness the light concealed,
And in each drop, the strength revealed.

When life grows heavy and skies turn dark,
Look to the clouds for a fleeting spark.
For even in thunder, their beauty remains,
In cascading hues or the softest strains.

Those clouds of life, so vast, so wide,
Are the journeys we take, the tears we've cried.
Yet in their dance, there lies a truth,
Each shadowed sky renews our youth.

So let them gather, let them soar,
For the clouds of life are forevermore.

Let it pulse like thunder in the hollow
of your chest,
let it tear at the seams
of certainty, let it live.

Stop the fists clenched, the hard-won wishes
shoved against the walls of fate.
Let go
the trembling grip on that which slips
through your fingers like sand, like smoke,
like the memory of a forgotten dream.

The world, vast and reckless, asks only
that you breathe it in,
not wrangle it into submission.

Feel it.
How everything meant for you
whispers on a current unseen,
how it weaves
like shadow and light through the very marrow
of your bones, calling you by name,
soft as a promise,
certain as blood.

So let it flow, let it go, this war,
this force,
this heavy ache of trying to shape
the ocean into your palms,
let it all fall
like rain to the earth.

Trust.
Trust that all that belongs
will come like wild birds returning,
like rivers finding the sea,
effortless, fated, bold.

And so you breathe.
You breathe in life, vast, unknowable,
more wild and free than desire.

You let it move, unchained.

And in that breath, in that letting go,
you become,
everything you were ever meant to be.

The truth, a mirror so clear and deep,
Where shadows hide, where secrets sleep.
It calls to us, like winds through trees,
Whispering softly, "Come, be free."

But freedom, friend, is never light,
It asks for courage, asks for sight.
For in this glass, what do we see?
Our flaws, our fears, our frailty.

Yet truth is kind, though hard to hold,
A fire that cleanses, bright and bold.
It strips away the masks we wear,
Reveals the soul, both pure and bare.

To grow, we must not turn and flee,
From all we are, from all we see.
For growth is born from truth embraced,
Not from the lies we chase in haste.

The heart expands when it can face,
Its own mistakes, its own disgrace.
And in that knowing, there's a grace,
That leads us to a higher place.

For strength is found not in denial,
But in the honesty of the trial.
The more we accept, the more we learn,
Through pain, through joy, through fires we burn.

And those who grow are those who stay,
Who do not flinch or run away.
For they have learned that to be whole,
Requires a reckoning with the soul.

So stand before that mirrored truth,
Embrace your age, embrace your youth.
For only then can you ascend,
And find the strength to rise, to mend.

The deeper you look, the more you'll find,
The growth of heart, the growth of mind.
In truth, there lies the power to be,
Unbroken, boundless, and truly free.

When love does falter, and the heart is unsure,
Do not linger in shadows where doubt does endure.
For the soul deserves more than to beg or to plead,
You are a garden, a flame, and a seed.

Walk away, with grace, from the one who can't see,
All the brilliance you hold, all the vastness you'll be.
They are not blind, yet their gaze is too weak,
To fathom the depth, the heights that you seek.

Do not wait for the crumbs of affection to fall,
When your worth is a banquet, and you deserve it all.
Someone will come who drinks from your spring,
Who cherishes the song only you can sing.

So, walk away, for peace comes with release,
You'll find in the distance your heart's quiet peace.
No longer will you wonder why they couldn't stay,
For love, when it's right, never asks you to pray.

And when you meet the one who sees all your light,
You'll look back with a smile, knowing you were right.
To walk from the unsure, to let go of the gray,
To love yourself enough... to simply walk away.

In the quiet between heartbeats, I found you there,
Not in grand gestures, but in a most gentle care.
In every moment your eyes softly see,
The deepest, truest parts of me.

You understand when words fall short,
When silence speaks more than love ever thought.
With devotion, you stand by my side,
A lighthouse constant through the tide.

You offer respect like a sacred prayer,
In every look, in how you’re always there.
You validate the dreams I dare to voice,
And reassure me, love is not a choice.
It’s how you show up, again and again,
In sunlight and sorrow, through joy and pain.

And I, in turn, trust your soul’s design,
Accepting your shadows as wholly divine.
I see your strength, and I admire,
The way you rise from every fire.

Your worth, your heart, I deeply approve,
With every breath, I show my love.
And when your courage starts to fade,
I’ll be your echo - unafraid.

Appreciation fills my every vow,
To cherish the person standing here now.
Encouragement will be my gift,
A steady wind, a soul’s uplift.

So let this be the promise I keep,
To love you wide, to love you deep.
Where caring meets trust, and devotion meets grace,
That’s where our love has found its place.

(Inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson's words)

Write it on your heart, a golden decree,
Each day a jewel, let it glimmer free.
The dawn unfolds with a sacred hue,
A canvas untouched, awash in dew.

The sun ascends, a celestial flame,
Whispering softly, "Today is your name."
No yesterdays linger, no tomorrows plead,
This moment is yours, the soul's only need.

Banish the shadows of fear and regret,
Each breath a promise you've yet to forget.
The world awakens, in chorus it sings,
A hymn of new chances, the joy it brings.

Feel the pulse of life in the morning air,
A love letter waiting, beyond compare.
The trees bend low, their wisdom to share,
"Seize this day; hold it tender, with care."

For every hour is a gift divine,
A chalice of nectar, ambrosial wine.
Drink deeply, dear soul, and let it bestow
The courage to thrive, the freedom to grow.

Even the storm, with its tempest cry,
Clears the way for a brighter sky.
The rain is a poet, its verses profound,
Each droplet a blessing, the earth is crowned.

Write it on your heart, etch it in gold,
Each day a treasure, its worth untold.
No promise is greater, no truth more clear,
Today is the best day of the year.

Yoga, ancient, sacred, a dance of grace,
A practice woven through time, in every place.
With breaths that rise and fall like the sea,
It roots the soul and sets it free.

Why do I practice? Oh, let me tell,
Of a world within, where stillness dwells.
In the silence of breath, soft as night’s caress,
Yoga draws me near, and I'm one with less,
Less of the worries that cloud my sight,
Less of the burdens that weigh and fight.

In gentle poses, in stilled embrace,
I find the shape of inner space.
In meditative flow, the outer fades,
I drift from the noise and the world’s charades.
Through asanas that open, twist, and bend,
I meet the self, as my truest friend.

Each stretch, a prayer, each pose, a shrine,
To the sacred body and the mind’s design.
And in those moments of pure release,
I uncover my heart, I uncover peace.
Gone are the walls, the restless pace,
I find a sanctuary in time and space.

The sun salutes, the moon bows low,
In this ancient ritual’s steady flow,
I discover wisdom, quiet, deep,
In Yoga’s heart, where secrets sleep.

Why do I practice? To simply be,
To touch the threads of eternity.
It’s more than motion, more than breath,
It’s life within life, and in life, death.

The shedding of layers, to see and to know,
The self beyond what outwardly shows.
I practice Yoga to dance with soul,
To remember myself as whole.