She stands where sea and sorrow meet,
Barefoot on windswept, splintered boards,
Her father’s cap held soft and sweet,
A lifeline in her silent cords.
Each evening’s glow, a dying flame,
That once would kindle storms of hope
Now waning embers whisper his name
Across the vast, unending scope.
Her ribbons fray with every tide,
Blue for sky, and yellow for dreams,
Red for the grief she cannot hide,
All drifting off in moonlit streams.
She breathes the salt, its stinging truth,
That love can leave without goodbye;
Her childhood bleeds into lost youth,
As gulls wheel tears across the sky.
When dawn arrives, the cap remains
A hollow crown of memory.
And she, with hollowed, aching veins,
Walks home alone, adrift at sea.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:20 AM UTC
"You are more than flame
I would have burnt in your arms
Just to feel your warmth"
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:19 AM UTC
The water cries beneath the soil, where crystals and diamonds distance from the clouds crying for her lost child formed from her own kind. the child craves for it's mother's love lost in her faded glance enticed by crystal and diamond tears in the back of her eyes.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:19 AM UTC
Days are never better
Nights are lonely
Cold as always
With the streets unsafe
All you do is wonder
Where the next meal will come from
Unlike the others
Your always on your own
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:18 AM UTC
When your turn finally arrives," he says,
"you'll understand why the wait was really long.
You'll see why the storm was rough and strong,
Why the Ocean was endless, the sails torn.
When your turn finally arrives, every tree in this jungle will make sense.
You'll appreciate each wound and scratch for the beautiful scars they are.
You'll finally see adventures in your endless journey.
You'll realize that the burdens and weight you couldn't bear
were merely the crucible where your strength was forged.
The wrecking heartbreaks, the tears you've shed,
You'll learn chiseled your spirit and your character made.
When your turn finally arrives, you'll understand that
The purpose of going through the deepest caverns and the darkest tunnels
was to unearth hidden gems, like precious pearls in funnels.
When your turn arrives, amid life's daily stumbles,
You'll discover that each loss you picked up along the way
collectively turned you into the masterpiece that you are."
28.09.2025
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 3:08 AM UTC
Life walks softly, barefoot in rain,
Trailing the echoes of love and of pain.
We build with hope, then watch it decay,
As time steals the colors and carries them away.
Hearts once whole are scattered like dust,
Shattered by promises broken in trust.
Eyes that once dreamed now quietly grieve,
Learning too soon how the tender must leave.
There’s no warning when joy turns to ache,
No gentle farewell when foundations break.
We reach for tomorrow, but it slips through our hands
A ghost in the dark that no soul understands.
The road bends often where we cannot see,
And asks us to walk where we’d rather not be.
Each choice a question, each answer unclear,
Each heartbeat a whisper of love or of fear.
Yet even in sorrow, we rise once again,
Cradling grief like a long-lost friend.
For pain is the price of the love that we knew
And life, in its silence, still carries us through.
23.06.2025
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 3:21 PM UTC
They asked, “Who broke your heart?” I smiled,
As if the wound had healed a while.
But silence pressed behind my teeth,
A name I buried underneath.
Not one, I said but many things:
The way she left, the way hope clings,
The way a laugh turns into mist,
The way you ache for lips you kissed.
It wasn't just her voice gone still,
But how the world grew cold and shrill.
It was the songs that made me cry,
The empty space when love says goodbye.
They asked again “Was it her name?”
And still, I couldn’t place the blame.
A heart breaks slow, then all at once
Not just by loss, but lack, and months.
So who? I whispered to the night.
“I broke it too by holding tight.”
11. 06.2025
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 5:11 AM UTC
I wrote you a letter
Not with pen, but with breath on glass,
Where my longing fogged the silence
Between your world and mine.
Each word, a whispered echo
Of the nights you live inside my ribs
A cathedral of unspoken touch,
Where I kneel before your absence.
I folded the paper of my soul,
Sealed it with the gravity of your gaze,
And sent it on the wings of hours
That refused to move without your name.
I wrote you a letter
Because I could not unlove you
Even in stillness, my heart
Keeps writing where you once touched.
You are the ink that stains my sleep,
The unwritten vow in every pulse.
If love is a language,
Then let this poem be fluent in you.
8.06.2025
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 2:23 PM UTC
You left.
And the silence you left behind
became my classroom.
I sat in the wreckage,
pen in hand,
writing you out of my system
one aching line at a time.
Every poem was a lesson.
Not about you—
but about me.
How I break,
how I bend,
how I bleed ink
when I can’t cry.
They call it heartbreak.
I call it a syllabus.
Each verse a bruise,
each stanza a scar
stitched into wisdom.
You thought you were leaving.
But you stayed
in metaphors and metaphysics.
In the rhythm of my regret.
And now strangers read your shadow
on my page,
and feel less alone.
Funny, isn’t it?
You became my greatest teacher
by being the wound I had to write through.
So thank you.
For walking away.
I graduated with every goodbye
05.06.2025
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 12:49 PM UTC
They will forget our names.
The world will swallow our stories
like shorelines pulled back by a thousand tides.
But once
you and I
were here.
We touched time,
bare hands against the pulse of now,
fragile and burning,
like we thought forever was ours to command.
You laughed under stars
that died before we were born.
I held your face like it was prophecy.
We were dust in defiance,
trying to matter.
Centuries will not remember us.
Your letters will yellow,
my voice will vanish,
and the things we broke
will outlast the things we built.
But if somewhere,
a girl finds a scrap of our story
a poem, a breath caught in ink
and reads the way I loved you,
maybe,
for a moment,
we will exist again.
Not as we were.
But as a feeling.
As a flicker in the marrow of someone
who aches the way we did
at the edge of a millennium
we couldn’t hold.
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 12:34 PM UTC