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Lalit Kumar Mar 25
I walked through the quiet hush of dusk,
where echoes of dreams in shadows lay.
Soft whispers clung to the evening breeze,
calling me back to yesterday.

A lantern flickered deep in my chest,
its flame unsure, yet burning bright.
Through shattered paths and weary steps,
it carved its way into the night.

I gathered moments, thread by thread,
stitched them into skybound wings.
Though time may steal, and fate may fade,
some dreams still hum—some echoes sing.
The nights breeze, gently whispers,
The moon and all the stars, shimmers,
Lying on my back, gazing the cosmos,
through the sky filled with darkness.

In this darkness, stars are visible,
Like stars my love always will, bright and eternal,
Unknown of your affection, my heart in turmoil,
Through this storm my love will continue to be agile.

The night is long and keeps me wide awake
A glimmer of light in your heart, is what I seek,
Wanted to feel to be on loves peak,
Till the end of this life, it’s not gleek.

By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
H. In darkness,
R. shadows weave their silent threads,
H. whispers dance where moonlight dreads.

H. In light,
R. golden rays embrace the dawn,
R. hope reborn, the night withdrawn.

H. If I’m still broken,
R. let the wind collect my sighs,
H. stitch my soul where sorrow lies.

H. Laying despairingly in this life,
R. like a leaf in winter’s hand,
R. drifting lost through barren land.

R. Yet even roots in frozen ground,
hear the call of spring’s soft sound.
H. Through the cracks where teardrops fell,
hope still blooms, a quiet spell.
A duet written with ChatGPT as my partner. This is extremely experimental and will not be a running theme in my posts. Let me know how you think the AI did each line is marked with H for human or R for robot.
Sam S Mar 8
You know that feeling?
The weight of words unsaid,
of pages paused mid-sentence,
of stories that never found their end.

We left the ink to settle,
the lines still carved in quiet space.
Not erased, not spoken—
just waiting in the in-between.

You swore the tide never pulled you in,
that the fire never warmed your skin.
Yet echoes stay, they don’t erase—
some truths remain, though left unnamed.

Some moments slip like sand,
some ghosts refuse to fade.
And silence, though it speaks in whispers,
still knows the words we never said.
I come from Kashmir
where land is green & white snow bed
and I come from Kashmir
where roads aren’t black but are red.

I come from Kashmir
where Daughter Tajamul brought Gold
and I come from Kashmir
where daughter Nafiya craves for her father’s body and lost his soul.

I come from Kashmir
where journalists get Peter Mackler & Pulitzer awards
and yet I come from Kashmir
where journalists get charged under UAPA as a reward.

I come from Kashmir
where Thekedar gets benefits under the Roshni Act
and I come from Kashmir
where an internet shutdown of 551 days was for every sect.

I come from Kashmir
where Gupta g ranked 1st in the country
and yet I come from Kashmir
where youth have to carry ID’s to prove their identity.

I come from Kashmir
which was known for its cultural dress Pheran
and I come from Kashmir
which now has more business in selling Kaffan.

I come from Kashmir
which Allama called the valley of braves
and I come from Kashmir
which now is the valley of Graves.

I come from Kashmir
which was called Earth’s Heaven
and yet I come from Kashmir
which now is the World’s Biggest Prison.

I come from Kashmir
where Chinars paint the autumn gold
and I come from Kashmir
where every spring, new tombstones unfold.

I come from Kashmir
where Dal Lake mirrors the moon’s glow
and I come from Kashmir
where blood taints the rivers’ flow.

I come from Kashmir
where children dream of books and play
and I come from Kashmir
where childhoods vanish in smoke and clay.

I come from Kashmir
where lovers once whispered in gardens wide
and yet I come from Kashmir
where silence now walks side by side.

I come from Kashmir
where poets wrote of love and fate
and yet I come from Kashmir
where verses now carry only weight.

I come from Kashmir
which history books fail to define
and I come from Kashmir
which lives between the headlines’ lines.
A voice from Kashmir—serene on the surface, deep with unspoken stories.
Maryann I Feb 28
Soft are the sighs of the evening’s embrace,
laced in the hush of a silver-lit breeze.
Waltzing in whispers, the night leaves a trace,
brushing my cheek with a delicate tease.

Gossamer ribbons of moonlight descend,
trailing my footsteps in flickering white.
Coy is the dance as the fireflies blend,
spun in the glow of a star-lover’s light.

Fingers like lace trace the edge of a dream,
velveted laughter afloat on the air.
Oh, how the midnight was made to be seen—
darling and dainty, yet wickedly fair.

Tell me, sweet wanderer lost in my spell,
would you still chase me if I never fell?
The night's deep well, where Whispers of a Silent Heart reside,
On silken winds, a phantom dance, where secrets softly glide.
My silent heart, a jade-clasped box, each thrum a muted strain,
Time, like thick honey, slowly drips, a sorrow's gentle rain.

Shadows on papered walls now bloom, with memories' faint trace,
Lost dreams, like plum blossoms, swept from a forgotten vase.
A single star, through clouded panes, a fragile hope's thin gleam,
While the world, in breathless hush, awaits the dawn's first beam.

A sigh, like rustling bamboo leaves, stirs tender thoughts anew,
Wrapped in the warmth of solitude, where only truths accrue.
The heart, a silkworm's hidden thread, its softest sighs impart,
Whispers of a Silent Heart, a world held deep apart.

In quietude, a lotus pool, where unseen depths unfold,
A universe of solitude, in stories yet untold.
My painted brow, a furrowed line, reflects the moon's pale light,
Whispers of a Silent Heart, alone in fading night.
Dawn breaks, too early, a hollow sound,
My sleep undone, on restless ground.
Your absence echoes, a constant ache,
Each waking moment, for your sake.

I tried to push, to feel the cold,
Of silence given, a story told.
But fear outweighs, a lonely dread,
That you are lost, words left unsaid.

Your Whispered Truths, I hold them tight,
Against the shadows of the night.
My mind spins tales, of what might be,
Then trust prevails, you'll come to me.

Our pasts entwined, a fragile grace,
A bond we formed, in time and space.
A reason hides, behind the veil,
Let not that reason, make us fail.

You are my world, my beating core,
Without your light, I'm nothing more.
A fading breath, a darkened sky,
A broken heart, where dreams all die.

I seek to lift, to bring you cheer,
But distance breeds, a rising fear.
My words descend, to somber tone,
A heavy weight, I bear alone.

My love persists, a burning flame,
This ride we share, beyond all blame.
First touch, first kiss, a future bright,
Awaits us still, in morning's light.

I'll wait, I'll write, I'll hold you near,
Until you speak, and banish fear.
Please, let me know, what holds you fast,
Let this dark silence, be the last.

Each day a letter, sent with care,
A silent plea, upon the air.
If you desire, I'll walk away,
Just speak the word, and end this day.
a chipped porcelain doll
on a velvet swing
(one eye staring blankly
at the chandelier dust)


a whispered promise
in a room full of smoke
and cheap perfume
(a hand clutching a wilted rose)

chalk outlines of angels
on a dance floor sticky
with spilled champagne
(laughter echoing hollowly
like a broken metronome)


a bride in black lace
a groom with eyes like ice
(a ceremony performed
by a marionette priest)


the ***** wheezes a dirge
masquerading as a love song
(a chorus of whispers:
"cut the cake, cut the ties,
cut the cord to reality")


confetti of regrets
falling like ash
on a forgotten dream
(a photograph torn in half,
one piece smoldering)


a masquerade ball
where everyone wears
the same mask of happiness
(a single tear escapes,
tracing a path through the paint)


the clinking of glasses
a symphony of unspoken lies
(a toast to the future,
built on foundations of sand)


a heart-shaped box
filled with broken promises
and moth-eaten memories
(a child's drawing of a sun
hidden beneath the debris)


a silent scream
trapped in a gilded cage
(a bird beating its wings
against the bars of expectation)


a love story rewritten
with ink that bleeds
and words that twist
(a fairytale turned nightmare,
a happily ever after
left on the cutting room floor)


the scent of decay
mingling with the sweetness
of artificial flowers
(a wedding cake left to rot,
a symbol of love gone sour)


a chorus of disapproval
humming beneath the surface
of polite conversation
(a family portrait fractured,
the pieces scattered like leaves)


a single spotlight
illuminating the emptiness
of a hollow victory
(a crown of thorns,
a throne of lies)


a Whisper in the Dark:
"I write sins, not tragedies"
(but the ink stains the soul,
and the tragedies unfold
in the silence that follows)
.
I fell asleep, reading E.E. Cummings 'i carry your heart with me'.  I always liked this poem.  and I dreamt of my GF, the plans for the future, and how like the poem, I carry her with me.
But then I started to dream of the past, the heartache, the struggles, the disillusion.  When I woke, it was to "I write sins, not tragedies"
This poem (sonnet of sorts), is my attempt at a Cummingsesque style, incorporating the dream, and the lyrics that inspired this piece.
Whispers of the night,
Raindrops dance on rooftops low,
Dreams drift in the hush.
For @Liana and @erin, two young poetesses who should be commended and praised for the connections they make through words.
A haiku for you both, my way of saying thank you for the words you share.💙💙💙
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