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JAMIL HUSSAIN May 10
Turn thy tender eyes to me,
And let them glow so soft and free.
Like honeyed warmth on summer’s breeze,
They set my heart at perfect ease.

Gaze upon those lips, so sweet,
Where every smile is pure and neat.
Like petals kissed by dawn’s first light,
They make the world feel soft and bright.

O’ how the stars above would weep,
To see thy beauty, calm and deep.
Thy presence, like a velvet glow,
A secret love the world should know.

In thee, all sweetness finds its voice,
A melody that makes the heart rejoice.
Turn now, sweet soul, and let me see,
The love you hold so tenderly.
A Glance of Love 10/05/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
There are days
my chest burns
with a thousand unnamed feelings,
and I swear,
if I don’t find a place to put them,
I’ll split open
from the inside.

I romanticize everything—
the way light moves through a curtain,
the way someone laughs
without knowing I’m listening—
and it wrecks me.

I carry every goodbye like a funeral.
I fall in love with strangers
for no reason
but the way they exist.

The world wants me dull.
Wants me quiet,
contained.
But I’m all crescendo—
too loud,
too tender,
too much.

And oh,
where—
oh, where
to pour all this softness,
when no one knows how to hold it.
Ahmed Gamel Apr 20
In her presence,
a quiet dawn breaks,
soft and steady,
like the first light of day.

Her heart speaks in whispers,
a language I’ve always known,
no words needed,
just a feeling,
like the earth calling me home.

Her smile is the calm
that stills the storm inside,
a gentle breeze on a restless sea,
where I can find peace,
where I can finally breathe.

She holds the weight of the world
with a grace that never falters,
turning every moment
into something warm,
something true.

I don’t need to understand it all—
I just need to feel it,
this quiet, tender magic
that wraps itself around me,
whispering that it’s okay
to simply be.

And in her gaze,
there’s a garden,
where every part of me can grow,
where every shadow finds its light,
and I can rest
in the softness of her soul.
This poem is a quiet reflection on the calming presence of someone who helps you find peace, grow, and reconnect with your truest self. In a world full of noise, sometimes the most profound feelings are the simplest ones—like a soft breeze or the warmth of a sunrise. Writing this was an exercise in capturing those small but significant moments of stillness and love that make life worth living.

I hope it resonates with you, whether you’re seeking peace in your own life or simply need a reminder of the beauty in quiet connection.
Savva Emanon Mar 20
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.
Every night, after everything that happens during the day,
I want to fall asleep holding your hand on my chest—
sometimes smelling it, sometimes kissing it.

And eventually, at the end of my life,
I want to die this way:
holding your hand on my chest
as you feel my last heartbeat.
Maryann I Mar 14
How many ways to love, you ask—
a question no number could hold.
Is it the warmth in a morning glance,
or fingers laced when nights grow cold?

Is it stitched in quiet acts—
the coffee brewed before you wake,
the lullaby in whispered words,
the comfort found when hearts ache?

It’s in the listening without reply,
in laughter blooming from nothing at all,
in standing near through storm and still,
in catching you before you fall.

It’s in the gentle brushing of hair,
the note slipped beneath your door,
the holding on through distance long,
the choosing you, and then once more.

It’s in the growing, side by side,
in space that’s safe, yet ever near,
in letting go of fear to trust,
in every soft “I’m here.”

So how many ways to love, you say?
More than stars that grace the night,
more than raindrops ever kissed
the windowpane with morning light.

Count each heartbeat, each breath we take,
each kindness passed from hand to hand—
and still, you’d only touch the edge
of love’s vast, endless strand.
Maryann I Mar 11
Hello, dear poet,
Come closer now—yes, you, love.
This poem is a cradle,
a soft hum rocking through time,
meant for the child you once were—
the one who clutched wonder with both hands,
who cried quietly behind closed doors,
who dreamt of magic even in the dark.

Shh, it’s okay.
You were always trying your best.
You were never too much, never not enough.
You were a wildflower learning to grow
even in the cracks of concrete.
Your dreams were as big as the sky,
and every fall was just a reason
to rise up stronger, a little more sure
that everything would be okay.

Remember the days
when the world was a puzzle you were eager to solve,
when the corners of your mind were wide open,
and every answer felt just out of reach?
But sweet one,
there was no rush—
time had its own rhythm for you to follow,
and you danced to it
with your tiny, unshakable steps.

When the shadows stretched long and wide,
when fear whispered your name,
and doubt felt like an endless rain—
remember,
it was okay to curl up,
to seek comfort in soft things—
blankets, warm arms,
the lullaby of the wind through the trees,
the quiet hum of someone who loved you.

And now, dear poet,
you’ve grown,
but that child,
the one with the bright eyes and the open heart,
is still with you.
They are the spark behind your every word,
the soft whisper in your chest
that says, ”You’re okay.
You’re safe now.”


Don’t forget them,
the one who believed in stars
and who whispered to the moon when no one was listening.
They are still here,
still breathing,
still dancing in your soul.

So, dear poet,
when the weight of the world feels too heavy,
remember—
you were always held
in ways you never quite understood,
always loved
in ways that made the darkness bearable.

And no matter where you go,
you will never be too far from that safe place—
where everything,
yes, everything,
will be alright.
This poem is a cradle—a soft place for your heart to rest.
It was written for the child you once were, the one who needed gentleness, warmth, and words that felt like home.
Let it hold you the way you always deserved to be held. You are safe now. You are still growing. You are still loved.
Maryann I Mar 2
Drifting like whispers through lavender evenings,
golden light pools where the fireflies glow,
Soft is the hum of the honeyed horizon,
melting like warmth on the skin ever slow.

Fingers trace maps in the hush of the silence,
stories are spun in the hush of your breath,
Laced in the air is the fragrance of clover,
soft as a promise that time won’t forget.

Murmurs like nectar drip sweet on my lips,
tangled in whispers so tenderly spun,
Moonlight dissolves in the amber of longing,
melting in ribbons of love left undone.

Here in the hush where the firelight lingers,
golden and sweet as the touch that we share,
Honeyed embraces dissolve into morning,
warm as your voice in the dawn-silver air.
Zelda Feb 8
pillow-soft
silk & skin
full—
meet
light pink petals
trembling,
sheet-tangled
marks on a body
blushing feelings
sweet nectar
lingers—
delicate, fragile folds
kissed by dew,
hush
February 8, 2025
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