#poetryfromwithin
In the stillness of dawn, a soldier dreams,
Of a home left behind, or was it just a gleam?
Hiraeth grips the heart, a silent yearning stream,
For a place he cannot reach, but knows by heart's theme.
Memories flicker like stars in the night,
Of laughter and warmth, of love shining bright.
Yet the battlefield's echoes drown out the sight,
A soldier's dream of home, in the midst of the fight.
Hiraeth whispers in the rustling leaves,
A home unrealised, a heart that grieves.
Through the chaos and noise, a soul believes,
In the dream of returning, a soldier achieves.
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 7:02 AM UTC
May I splinter away from myself
break into whole units
and
live in each with perfection!
This ME
made whole by
combining countless fragments
could not live in any one part
with complete ease.
May I show a true model
of deconstruction to Derrida
by taking off parts that make up my being!
So that I would see
one man fallen off me
shambling down the street,
and continue to speak in assemblies
with full ignorance of the subject,
continue to review the news of the world
by stuffing them in his brain
and go yapping in the crowds
fully content in the perfection of
his inferior sphere.
The other one
brooding over the ledger books
and the personal files
of the employees.
May the next one always keep reading,
the other looking after children
and still another swimming
in love all his life.
May the other fragment – the ‘me’ whom I don’t like
remain shut somewhere in the room.
May one other splinter engage
in inner decoration of the house
and meet the hunger of needs.
If he cannot do so
may he fragment himself further
into contractors
supplying vegetables, miscellanies,
clothes, and fuels
and sorting out other mess.
May one other part
forgetting that he is my splinter
continue to clap on each stupid action
of his boss, shaking head, and
remain busy in his little puppet moves.
May the other take responsibility of
television, radio and newspapers.
May the other still stay repeating the news of
the relatives and acquaintances
fulfilling formalities of well-being
embroiling in the phatic-
where? what? how?
participating in all of ‘sixteen rituals’
and birthdays.
May the other one continue to repeat
the non-news of his immobility
and continue to go to places
where people gather,
and go doing something like that.
May I hold an assembly
of the proportional representation
of all my selves.
may I go out with the poet
by leaving all the others
in their chaotic meaningless arguments.
May my poet remain a poet
in its perfection
unattached to my domesticity
full of scarcities;
may he remain separate
from a job-savvy me
who has sold his self-respect.
may my poet disengage itself
from my being
swayed by my brain.
May I discard the outer cover of time
from the layers of poetry
by immersing the poet in its entirety
within me, and
dismantle geography’s barriers.
may I break the windows of consciousness,
break further the dilapidations of waking moments
and emerge into the bright world of dream.
May life remain enamored of its own charm
may the river of love always flow from its own lap
may my pain remain drunk singing its own love songs
and the dead body of agony remain asleep
resting its head on a pillow of flowers.
May I free myself from the labyrinth of knowledge
run away from the jungle of thoughts
and jump from the hill of illusion
into the mind’s speedy currents.
by stepping on this joint of time.
may I pack all inventions in burlaps
and hide them in corners of Einstein’s’ brains.
May I free myself from the ever-pressing chest
and enter the garden of imagination
by leisurely hiding brain on hill summits.
May I take off clothes covering shame at the border
leaving them hanging on dry trees of arrogance
and run by wearing the rays of the sun.
May I create plain fields by collecting clouds
and bedeck them with arching rainbows.
Playing ball of wind
reaching the other end of The Road Not Taken
may I call in Robert Frost by holding hands
and request Ginsberg to recite Howl
facing the world.
May I bet with Devkota sitting contentedly
by receiving his lord’s blessings
that you are a poet who has written epics
and win a bagful of stars.
May I exchange T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland
with the future of this earth like a lunatic’s dreams
and make one season of poetry farming
by tilling with the pen of desire.
Oh, this ME
made with so many fragments
could not make any achievements!
May I then splinter away
from myself
and live only with the poet.
०००००
Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 10:33 PM UTC
I moved because my heart whispered,
quietly, without fanfare.
I stepped into work I never imagined,
to see how far my care could stretch -
to see how deep I could fall for what I felt.
I pulled a friend into my quiet storm,
believing effort could bend fate.
But life hit harder than I expected -
an accident, a debt, a bruise,
a weight too heavy to carry alone.
I called you that day,
not for anything,
only to hear a voice that felt like a small refuge.
You responded as you naturally would,
unaware of the storms pressing down on me.
Not coldness, not anger -just normal,
because you didn’t know the depth of what I carried.
I promised to call again, to give,
but circumstances held me hostage.
Not from weakness, not from a lack of will -
but from life itself, testing how much a heart could endure.
Through all of it, I learned my limits,
and the depth of what I could feel for you.
Every risk I took, every storm I braved,
was measured, deliberate -
not for glory, not from desperation,
but to see how far my heart could fall
and still stand.
Even in chaos, a strange sweetness remained:
the fire of trying for you,
burning bright even
What remains isn’t regret -
just a calm, tired glow,
an unfinished energy I still carry.
Proof that some feelings stay pure
even when the world doesn’t go our way.
If you ever wonder what happened,
just know this:
I stepped forward sincerely,
fell honestly,
and stood up with the same heart -
still warm, still real,
just a little wiser than before!!!!!
WORK FROM ::
To Her Who Already Knows!!!
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 1:21 AM UTC