All Posts

What does the night sky look like? The lady asked the child. She is a symphony of nature’s lovely chords, A thousand mirrors into a human’s soul, In the shape of twinkling stars. Colours, both sour and sweet, Young spirit and moist joy. A portal to worlds unknown. But you have a pair of hazel eyes, Then why do you ask me so? The naive voice asked in wonder. I am blinded by grief my child, By years of love and loss.

Covered in honey and sugar And bittersweet lies. Chasing highs after lows And lows after highs Paddling shallow waters, Bathed in sand. Trying to run away From inevitable life. Ignoring the paintings Of struggle and strife. Rolling in grass, Time after time. Running with the wind, Starting tiny fires. Hidden behind the walls, Away from the guns and the knives.

Cornflowers and white fences, A universe of possibilities And muddy soles. Skin on skin, bones entwined. Your soft hushed whispers And baby hands. The whir of the fan In a dark bedroom. The sense of forlorn. We still have a long way to go.

Not more than a paltry house On a cobblestone street. The porch light faulty, No window clean. A minimal sight That fleets from your eyes, But, home for two lovers entwined. A bed of roses tended by The hands of fulfilment, Of peace of mind. Not too much to their name, Not a penny, nor dime. But, all the riches could never suffice, In front of the charm of laughter and care, Of all devotion, in all its flair. Not a morsel of bread, Not a roof on their heads, Yet nothing bleak

He loves her for the way she laughs And for the spark in her eyes, above her freckled nose. He knows she wouldn't glance at him Or his wrinkled clothes. She is determination and spark, Raspberry with a little bit of rum. She looks at the world, Like its hers to run. He aches for her to look at him For, she is his world.

When I am down at the river’s end, I’ll walk to you, Hold you in my arms again. You’ll hear the words, “I’ll be home soon”, But in your mind’s eye, You see me true. You’ll know, I am never Coming back to you. I’ll sink into the river bed Till I am invisible to you.

I watched it all burn. Where the tall flowers grew, Now, wisps of weeds. I watched it all burn. The expanse of the ocean, Now, a mere stain of its former self. I watched it all burn. The crowded streets, the bustling roads, Now, only paths for ghosts to roam. Ghosts of people I left behind. A liar, a cheat, a sinner indeed. I struck a match And let it engulf me.

I walk this earth all by myself, Climbing the steps towards sweet home, death. I, too, had people I could call mine. People I collected, lost along the line. Memories I made, somewhat futile by now. Words I heard, Words I spoke. Faded away like fingerprints on photographs. Photographs sealed and packed away, Banished to a life of encagement. A life left behind, a story yet unfinished. What I could have been? If I still had the people I could call mine. People I collected, los

I walk to you And walk some more I try to reach, But, end up on the floor. You are ambition, Validation And a bucket of hope. I tremble as I start to grope, You slip away from my fingers once more, So close to touch, Much too far to own. How much longer To run and run? My calloused hands, My feet are torn. I crawl to you And then I know Fulfilment is not to be chased, It is simply found on its own.

I died at thirteen. Now, stuck at that age forevermore, A thought passed me by, That no one notices a corpse Till the change of seasons show on the skin. I will forever be an object of use, A thing so easily tossed around. Anyone’s to claim, everyone’s to share. The handprints forever etched On my bones. I will remain a rotting soul, An impurity forever condemned To life alone. Shame stricken and shameful Simply, thirteen forevermore.

Poor little dove, Why do you cry? Is it because the goldfinch flew faster? Poor little dove, Why those tears In your eyes? Is it because the nightingale’s tune makes heads turn? Poor little dove, Perhaps you're fine a dove. A symbol of strength And serenity high above.

Here’s to the one I love most, My haven away from all sorrows and woes, My beautiful tulip, My eternal light, The sound of silence in The loudest of noise. Here’s to the one I love most, My precious comfort, my quiet home, The thought that is my constant, My love and my life. Here’s to the one I love most.

She loves when it rains, Soaking the embers teasing her skin. She loves loud noises, Reminders of what home sounded like. Strangled by the hands of her pain. In silence, Is her loudest ache. In numbness, She feels awake. The beauty of her ugly mind, The whispers of her silent cries, Consume her, Bit by bit.

I didn't know eyes could laugh, Until I met you. I didn't know thoughts could be of such vivd colours, Until I heard yours. I didn't know hands could converse in their own beautiful language, Until I held yours. I didn't know the slightest glimpses of someones face could make your day go so much better, Until I saw yours. I didn't know smiles could be so infectious, Until your lips curved a certain way. A picture perfect painting, Made especially for me. Such beautiful stroke

I think of you when the storms arrive. I think of you in the heavy downpour. I think of you when the sun shines too bright. I think of you as the breeze wisps by. I think of you during dreary nights. I think of you when days seem too long. I think of you when the young flowers bloom. I think of you when they wilt and rot. I don’t know your name, Not even something to call. Yet, you preside in my mind, Through the rise and the fall.

A coin, its two different faces, Vulnerable and brave, Content and despondent. A puzzle of unmatched pieces, Pieces of people We meet along the way. A mosaic of different experiences That years have brought our way. Marked by time, Moulded and carved By the hearts of many, Our own unique identity.

In a world filled with noise and chaos, minimalist poetry offers a refreshing escape. It captures emotions in a few carefully chosen words, much like a painter uses warm colors to evoke feelings. This art form strips away the unnecessary, allowing the essence of emotion to shine through. Minimalist poetry is not just about brevity; it is about depth. Each word is a brushstroke, creating vivid imagery and stirring emotions. This blog post will explore how minimalist poetry cap

With a bouquet of flowers, She walked around, Trying to uplift the sorrows. Rose for the weeping widow, Lilies for the sad boy, Daisies for the suffering. Little by little, The flowers were gone And all the sorrows of the world, She bore in her.

Love is a universal theme that has inspired countless poets throughout history. From the passionate sonnets of Shakespeare to the modern verses of contemporary writers, poetry captures the essence of love in its many forms. In this blog post, we will explore how poetry expresses love, the different styles and forms it takes, and how you can use poetry to deepen your understanding of love. Poetry has a unique ability to convey emotions. It can express joy, longing, heartache,

Life is a journey filled with moments that shape our existence. Each experience, whether joyful or painful, contributes to the tapestry of humanity. Poetry has a unique way of capturing these moments, allowing us to reflect on our lives and the world around us. In this post, we will explore the beauty of life through poetic reflections, examining how poetry can help us understand our humanity. Poetry speaks to the heart. It can express feelings that words alone often fail to