This sound,
like a friendly wind,
walking through
my lost memories
from irreversibility,
from the cold reality
of indifference
returning to fulfilling promises
as an answer to my invocation

A unique, sweet sound
is calling me now,
after twenty-five years.
I bought that ticket,
sitting in my narrow seat,
holding in my hand
a piece of uncertainty
that deforms
every time I get on board.

I used to take so many trains:
traces, luggage, running passengers,
waiting, wasting minutes.
They brought me,
step by step,
station by station,
to this voice,
to this tone of being,
in tune with silver threads.

The windows are yet closed.
I carry in my cells
the code of Alef,
a crystalline illusion.

The lens caves in
and swells outward,
seeing the elusive past
still living in me,
playing under a different sun,
through elusive existences.

We came as twenty-one souls.
Twenty I found.
One was lost—
the one closest
to my breathing truth.

The final deal:
Am I losing
or will I rest
in deeper words?

Yes.
I did it for you,
changing alternative worlds,
pulsing around me,
invitations not accepted.

I open the gate
to a new home:
to warmth,
to creativity,
made by sweet recognition
of blooming Fall to come
waiting patiently
for your move
for your not-yet-published story.

Across borders stitched by breath, they arrive, ink-smudged, heart-full, with pages folded like wings that have not yet flown.

From Accra to Auckland, Jakarta to Johannesburg, they gather not for glory, but to listen, to lift each other’s quiet voices into rhythm.

What hasn’t been published is sacred here. Fragile truths tucked between verse and vulnerability. We do not seek spotlight, we seek ignition.

Each week, a theme is offered: a pulse in the WhatsApp thread, a seed waiting for rain. No borders in this garden, only roots tangled by intention, language spun into new skin.

Poems grow from silence, from longing, from laughter shared in typed pauses and midnight bursts. We write not to be heard, but to become more whole, more human.

Let the unread rise. Let the raw shimmer. Let the shared craft soften our edges into kinship.

knew he was coming near. said hello.

we stood together quiet, he turned.

i went to the bridge as always,
down along the river
bank
and back.

he had waited at the gate.
i looked at his legs so long,
held her up to see.

they seemed to like each other too.

we all stood quietly together.

up the road the bus burned black.