#literarylove
A moon of milk-white silence
night,
as if the sky has forgotten its distance
and learned my name instead.
In the Aavaram dusk,
a deer pauses mid-breath—
not afraid, only aware
that something sacred is passing.
Even the field’s stream forgets to move.
Water holds its reflection too long,
and carved Tamil stone
softens into memory.
I call to Valluvar for words,
but language refuses to arrive.
I call to Avvai for verse,
but even poetry turns quiet.
Then I understand—
poetry does not return what we seek.
It only transforms it.
She is no longer woman,
nor smile, nor voice—
but the silence before naming,
where everything is felt,
and nothing is defined.
When I look again,
even the moon has stepped back
into its distance.
Manishchelladurai ....
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 7:24 AM UTC
I am a poet,
This is our duet—
I write, and you read,
Such sweetness indeed.
✏️✏️✏️
من یازار، سن اوْخوجو Mən yazar, sən oxucu
سنه ساری اوْخ اۇجو Sənə sarı ox ucu
"یازی" یایینی چَکدیم Yazı yayını çəkdim
دای سندهدیر سوْنوجو! Day səndədir sonucu.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 5:50 AM UTC
I built a garden in my chest
with things you never said—
planted hopes in rows of maybes,
where your silence softly spread.
I watered it with almosts,
trimmed the silence like vines,
taught the leaves to chase the light
you never said was mine.
But nothing real grew—
just a heart dressed up as soil,
soft enough to cradle you,
but never meant to spoil.
You were the seed that never stayed,
the wind that kissed, then flew.
And I — the ground where you once rested,
but never rooted you.
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 1:48 AM UTC