#oldsoul
I find my generation incredibly blind.
Eyes fixed on small glowing glass,
forgetting about the endless beauty
of the world before us.
It is a generation of poison.
So I ask to be left with my flowers,
to stroll through botanical gardens.
Leave me with the song of a bird
and the conversations I hold
with the moon.
Leave me to sit beneath a willow tree
for hours, observing the world go by.
Let me write love letters for people
that I will never send,
and for places that touched my heart.
Let me long for a time that existed
before I did. For a time where
everything was real and alive.
A time when the world was
not ignored,
but witnessed.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 11:49 AM UTC
“I could live a thousand lives
And your eyes would calm me in all of them”
You said to me
As if people still spoke that way
They were words from a time before ours
When people still wore their hearts on their sleeve
And I knew then,
That I could never let you go
And no matter what should happen
I’d know you forever
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 5:09 PM UTC
greying cilia
framing lively child's eyes
with youth not ceasing
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 2:29 PM UTC
She has a vintage soul,
Full of rusty and dusty memories,
With the antique eyes
That seen some terrible events,
Her beauty reflects
the Victorian epoch,
Her wisdom is such sterling that
Vanquish the wisdom of Socrates,
But the fate and destiny
Leads her in the 21st century,
She feels like an alien
Who lives in a stranger place
But for her comfort in this world,
She has her books and a coffee mug.
–Humaira
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
I just open myself to the pain
Like a rotten wound that never heals
And my cursed soul can never rest,
Consuming itself from within.
My tired eyes have cried so much,
But my silent scream was never heard.
How could I ever think that I could win
On this unfair battlefield which I call life?
The Universe laughs at my stubbornness,
While throwing me back to the ground.
My rotten soul surrenders with a pity song
Searching for what's left of it.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 5:29 AM UTC
You inspire me to be better
Assertive like heaven
Positive vibes move subtle, etheric wheather
Though not as you think
Subtle like beyond view ;
vibe Grand like da right hand of the spectrum
Young driver but
Dis ain't my first vehicle
Sight like, first-eye wise
"Nanotangible"
O sumtm' of da direction
The blessing is
We can all share this space of awareness
If we step correct
No draggin
No shade
Upliftment
Sun rays
But the method take
A lil "calminuity"
Yeah I get fluid like da element
In the Magic of Creation
No disruption
No displacement
Focus like a blade being sharpened
Home is Presence
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 5:09 PM UTC
I wonder what they wonder
These people same my age
I wonder how they think
Is it deep like my depth?
or maybe
I'm just an old soul
trapped in a young body
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC
Letters are old school, but I guess so am I.
In a way, I guess that is true,
I sometimes feel like I am an old fool,
Stuck in the Motown groove,
The 21st Century is not for me,
Waiting a minute before I can hear the next song,
And when it eventually comes on it's one filled with hate,
And let’s not even talk about trying to date,
They said to leave a message after a beep,
For my old soul that means a beat,
That brought with it dance and heat,
Words and rhymes and a drumbeat,
See back in my day, a letter meant waiting on the mail man,
And not looking for blue ticks from an app I got from an online store,
It meant post stamps and asking friends to proofread,
It meant punctuating every line so that you knew without you I could not breathe,
Being in love was not just words and play,
It meant dancing in the street; we called it grooving,
Not sweet talking and lying,
The old fool in me is tired of trying,
Am not saying that you are lying,
But you are in no way trying,
To meet me in the street,
Or groove to a Motown beat,
I wish you were sending me flowers,
While you were out there spending time,
With worlds that were not even meant to be real,
My old soul needs more than one-off dines or drinking box wine!
See back in Motown, when a man loved a woman,
He could not keep his mind on anything else,
He did not put a little loving on her, or shelve her
It meant the whole street knew her, and even knew her favorite beat!
I have known only one other of your kind, the sweet-talking guy,
You have me down on my knees wondering when you are going to leave,
That is not love, I don’t know what it is,
Feels like it, but this is something else!
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
Morning haze,
I wake up
running
out of words.
I close my eyes,
look for your face
and just like that
a poem emerges.
Prerna K
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
Blue
reminds me of you
Old soul in a body that's new.
Missing piece of a jigsaw
Complementing every flaw.
Misty morning, mysterious night
escaping this world in plain sight.
A pair of broken wings
Urging hinged things
to fly, fly, fly away.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 3:41 AM UTC
I've been on this journey for far too long.
My vim and vigour long since gone.
So many trials conquered, so many tests,
yet my soul only craves for one final rest.
A world so familiar to a soul so old,
A world full of wonders, a world full of woes.
I dance the twisted dance that many called life,
A dance of joy, yet also a dance of strife.
I've danced the steps many, many times;
This world seems nothing new to me.
Yet I write these words with shifting rhymes,
asking when the end of said dance could be.
My body is young, but my soul is old;
weariness weighs down my fresh bones,
As I write down the story that is being told,
Wondering when I can go home.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 4:27 AM UTC
I love the smell of the rain.
Love feeling the release of pain.
Love feeling creative- love creating.
Can’t explain.
Love breaks my heart,
The world falls apart.
Feeling alone, but not set in stone,
Deserving a fresh start.
I’m immaculate with words,
I’m not standing with the herds.
Standing on my own two feet.
Anything else would be absurd.
I wonder where I’ll be,
I wonder what I’ll see.
In a land of grand disappointment,
I’m playing make believe.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
Cloudy skies
Heavy downpour
Cold breeze
Swaying trees
Misty window panes
Traffic lights
Hooting cars
Gushing gutters
Drenched trench coats
Soggy feet
Colourful umbrellas
Crowded shelters
Empty side walks
The city skips a few hearbeats
And comes to a stand still
Soon as the pounding rain stops
Everything returns to normalcy
But rainy days call for
Steaming cups
Slouchy sweaters
Fluffy blankets
Snuggles
Cuddles
Novels
Notebooks
Gramophone tunes in the background
Enjoying a little piece of heaven
While the day is washed off
Setting stage for a clean fresh start
©Sonia Ettyang
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 2:57 AM UTC
I guess I'm just stuck in the old ways of thinking
that true love is still out there.
I know how I feel but I guess you had a different idea
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
II.
To love pales in comparison of being loved,
but to love and be loved in turn?
Truly puissant, indeed.
III.
Though on the thread of life, the ink will spill
but never fades away. Now I see. If all I am
is to be nothing but a memory, the least
I can do is to make it a good one for the
future seeds.
Memory can slip and slide, but these words,
my words, that I have painted will remain.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
I ask you to mother me greatly, memory.
I ask you to father me strongly, experience.
I ask to strengthen me gradually, time.
I ask you to hone and refine me, wisdom.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
At the unknown station,
An old soul is waiting for the train to get back home,
After 800 years trapped on earth,
With all memories of
The 800 years journey,
That cannot be erased,
Cannot be forgotten...
.
At the unknown station,
an old soul is waiting for the train to get back home,
After 800 years trapped on earth.
The home where the far is near
And the near is far...
Where too far is sometimes really near
And too near is sometimes really far...
.
But,
"How far is near?"
And "How near is far?", anyway?
"Is far really near?"
Or "Is near really far?"...
While I'm waiting for the train to get back home at the unknown station,
I then cannot stop questioning the questions!
-KANYA PUSPOKUSUMO-
(An alien that trying to get back home)
May 21, 2018
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
While every other woman lusts over gold and diamonds, the only piece of jewelry she owns is her grandma’s silver anklets.
Though everyone has labeled cooking as a tedious job, she still loves to prepare the Sunday brunch for her family.
While all her friends are busy clicking selfies for instagram, she sits in the corner embracing her books.
Unlike those youngsters who love swaying to EDM, she seeks solace in Mohd. Rafi songs.
As crazy and old-fashioned as it may sound but I have seen her wishing on lady birds
. Whenever she feels lonely and desolate she talks to the daffodils she has planted in her garden.
Instead of facebooking all the mishappenings of her life, she shares them with an old diary.
In the age of breakups, patchups and one-night stands, she is still waiting for her soul mate.
On your birthday she won’t post those cheesy birthday wishes on your time line, instead she’ll surprise you with a delicious birthday cake.
While, everyone else gets offended over the stupidest of things, she still believes in the magic of thankyou’s and sorries.
The world has been cold and bitter towards her but she has been spreading the warmth of her love wherever she goes.
‘Use and throw’ is the modus operandi of our generation but she believes in mending broken things
Because the hardships of her life has taught her what does it mean to be broken.
Whenever I wonder about the emptiness of this world, her kind words are enough to restore my faith in humanity.
She is a bit cautious while making friends but she stands by them in their good or bad times.
She is not weird or crazy; she just belongs to a different time zone. In this ultra-modern world, she is still an old soul
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
her bones ache as she moves.
her mind won't follow the rules.
she looks so worn,
i've got a lot to learn.
she knows this life so well.
many secrets she could tell.
however, she keeps her lips sealed,
for she knows it will soon be revealed.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
I miss the old winters
That warmed up my soul
As a kid, I'd drink cocoa
Coming in from the cold
I could sit by the fire
Mittens drying nearby
I'd watch my brothers sleep
As I made up lullabies
Papa would tell us stories
Like how his cat once flew to mars,
Or how he stole our grand mama
When fighting in a bar
I'd then make up an adventure
Of when we would be all grown
How we'd be the best of friends
And together we'd share a big home
I miss those old heartfelt winters
That held nothing but beautiful glow
But the fire has long turned to ashes
And the house is empty and cold
I place my gloves on the table
Boiling a warm *** of tea
The radio blasts to cover the sound
Of the silence that always haunts me
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 3:39 PM UTC
•••
*Dancing lights
Only hurt my eyes
Screaming and loud music
Disgusting to my ears
Vodkas, cocktails and whiskeys
Never wanted to feel frisky
*** dope, cigarettes
I will only regret
Dancing, party, bar
Never wanted to go that far
Yes I have been to parties
But never will it become my thing
Maybe my past life has an old soul
Who finds comfort in her own hole
Yes, sometimes an anti-social
And sometimes interacting is crucial
So next time you ask me out
Make sure you know what I'm about
Coffee or tea, movies and books
Exhibits and museums let's take a look
A good music or a storytelling
A walk in a park or just talking
Pick me a flower, don't buy me a bouquet
Just hold my hand and always stay*
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC