Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
junayed00
16/M/India A 16-year-old with a poet’s soul and a dreamer’s heart. I write to feel, to heal, and to make sense of this chaotic world. Between pages of history and strokes of emotion, I’m learning to be more human—day by day, word by word. Still growing, still search
Poems3
Words131
If I could still hold you, In the palm of my trembling hand, In the depths of my fragile heart, In the whispers of my restless soul. If I could still hold you, In the shadows of sleepless nights, In the echoes of forgotten dreams, In the longing that seeps through my veins. If I could still hold you, In the silence of empty spaces, In the void that your absence created, In the ache that lingers, refusing to fade. If I could still hold you, In the fragments of memories, In the pages of a love story, In the etchings of a bittersweet past. If I could still hold you, In the tears that flow like rivers, In the laughter that dances on my lips, In the moments we shared, forever cherished. If I could still hold you, In the depths of my imagination, In the realms of a parallel universe, In the hope that defies all reason. If I could still hold you, In the symphony of our intertwined souls, In the symphony that plays on, undeterred, In the symphony that refuses to end. Then perhaps, just perhaps, Even in the absence of physical touch, Even in the void that separates our beings, Even in the vastness of this universe. I could still hold you, In the tenderness of my love, In the strength of my devotion, In the essence of who we once were. For love knows no boundaries, No limitations, no constraints, It transcends time and space, And etches itself onto eternity's canvas. So, if I could still hold you, In the depth of my being, In the essence of my existence, Then know, my love, that you are forever mine.
0
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 10:20 AM UTC
If I could still hold You
If I could still hold you, In the palm of my trembling hand, In the depths of my fragile heart, In the whispers of my restless soul. If I could still hold you, In the shadows of sleepless nights, In the echoes of forgotten dreams, In the longing that seeps through my veins. If I could still hold you, In the silence of empty spaces, In the void that your absence created, In the ache that lingers, refusing to fade. If I could still hold you, In the fragments of memories, In the pages of a love story, In the etchings of a bittersweet past. If I could still hold you, In the tears that flow like rivers, In the laughter that dances on my lips, In the moments we shared, forever cherished. If I could still hold you, In the depths of my imagination, In the realms of a parallel universe, In the hope that defies all reason. If I could still hold you, In the symphony of our intertwined souls, In the symphony that plays on, undeterred, In the symphony that refuses to end. Then perhaps, just perhaps, Even in the absence of physical touch, Even in the void that separates our beings, Even in the vastness of this universe. I could still hold you, In the tenderness of my love, In the strength of my devotion, In the essence of who we once were. For love knows no boundaries, No limitations, no constraints, It transcends time and space, And etches itself onto eternity's canvas. So, if I could still hold you, In the depth of my being, In the essence of my existence, Then know, my love, that you are forever mine.
Continue reading...
44
When luck leaves your side, And there's no one left watching . . .                There is no martyrdom. No heaven to fall from. No damnation.                 Just nothing.                 Nothing and no one.
0
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 10:17 AM UTC
Just nothing
When luck leaves your side, And there's no one left watching . . .                There is no martyrdom. No heaven to fall from. No damnation.                 Just nothing.                 Nothing and no one.
Continue reading...
6
They don’t know they live in my lines, in the curves of half-written poems, where I hide their names beneath metaphors and rain. They don’t know that every silence I’ve ever endured became a verse, and every goodbye turned into a stanza I never planned to finish. They’ve stopped remembering me— but I still write them down, so I don’t forget how it felt to be loved and left.
0
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 10:13 AM UTC
They don't know
They don’t know they live in my lines, in the curves of half-written poems, where I hide their names beneath metaphors and rain. They don’t know that every silence I’ve ever endured became a verse, and every goodbye turned into a stanza I never planned to finish. They’ve stopped remembering me— but I still write them down, so I don’t forget how it felt to be loved and left.
Continue reading...
15