#poetryoftheheart - Hello Poetry

A Poet I Am Not A poet I am not. My verses are not worth a piece of bread. I do not seek praise, nor do I flee from blame- both are weightless dust to me. All my craft, all my poetry, could rest easily inside a single cup. And unless the wine is poured by the Beloved’s own hand, I will not drink even a single sip.

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Feb 13

Feb 13, 2026 at 11:40 AM UTC

to-her-who-already-knows

A poet I am not

A Poet I Am Not A poet I am not. My verses are not worth a piece of bread. I do not seek praise, nor do I flee from blame- both are weightless dust to me. All my craft, all my poetry, could rest easily inside a single cup. And unless the wine is poured by the Beloved’s own hand, I will not drink even a single sip.

16

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.

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Jul 24, 2025

Jul 24, 2025 at 10:13 AM UTC

junayed00

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.

15

I've also felt all windows were watching all walls were listening, I'd also felt at that time streets and footpaths were speaking and veils were lifting. I've felt even when I was walking even when I was stopping all trees and birds sky and stars bosoms and bangles were seeing everything. It's true in that hesitation whether to stop or proceed get off or get over, all roads had appeared unfathomable. It's true I had also read on the face of surroundings some broken some disconnected some cracked expectations. I've touched some sentences and have kissed some words. Eyes that obstruct the road can be removed but what happens when hearts block the passage? that's why I've also pretended not to see the windows and walls. At such time it has also seemed to me there've been conspiracies against me, search for instruments to hit me in my words has also been going on. I've also felt those eyes and looks have also been sending a river of the flowers of feelings somewhere, raising a hill of the aromas of imagination. And have experienced at such time my mind sleeping in the joy of love. and have felt some arid passion taking me somewhere lopping off sensitive branches of life. At such moments felt my mind wake up with the temptation of life gathering courage for flowering beauty even in the desert of living. Do not think I've reached where I am now by slipping like a landslide or evaporating like a cloud. I've climbed up here holding the hilt of time's sword after driving it into my tender heart. Whether anybody comes to convince me or not a part of my life does always ache arresting my chest. -०-

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Jun 9, 2025

Jun 9, 2025 at 1:12 AM UTC

sumanpokhrel

While Parting

I've also felt all windows were watching all walls were listening, I'd also felt at that time streets and footpaths were speaking and veils were lifting. I've felt even when I was walking even when I was stopping all trees and birds sky and stars bosoms and bangles were seeing everything. It's true in that hesitation whether to stop or proceed get off or get over, all roads had appeared unfathomable. It's true I had also read on the face of surroundings some broken some disconnected some cracked expectations. I've touched some sentences and have kissed some words. Eyes that obstruct the road can be removed but what happens when hearts block the passage? that's why I've also pretended not to see the windows and walls. At such time it has also seemed to me there've been conspiracies against me, search for instruments to hit me in my words has also been going on. I've also felt those eyes and looks have also been sending a river of the flowers of feelings somewhere, raising a hill of the aromas of imagination. And have experienced at such time my mind sleeping in the joy of love. and have felt some arid passion taking me somewhere lopping off sensitive branches of life. At such moments felt my mind wake up with the temptation of life gathering courage for flowering beauty even in the desert of living. Do not think I've reached where I am now by slipping like a landslide or evaporating like a cloud. I've climbed up here holding the hilt of time's sword after driving it into my tender heart. Whether anybody comes to convince me or not a part of my life does always ache arresting my chest. -०-

63

Each time that I look in your eyes, A part of me quietly dies. But I'd give even more, For the love I adore— You're my heart in a perfect disguise.

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Jun 2, 2025

Jun 2, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

A Piece for Love

Each time that I look in your eyes, A part of me quietly dies. But I'd give even more, For the love I adore— You're my heart in a perfect disguise.

5

People call me strange. They say I live in fantasies. They call me weird, shy— A soul who always tries to escape from reality. An impractical, imperfect introvert. But what people don't know is: I’m not strange—just simple and safe in my own space. Not a survivor of fantasies, But someone who uses them to ease the weight of life. Not weird, but vowful. Not an escaper, but an exceptionist. I am not broken—just different. Not lost—just elsewhere. Not weak—just layered. Not escaping—but creating. So let them call me strange, But know this— In a world that often forgets to feel, Maybe strange is exactly what we need.

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May 27, 2025

May 27, 2025 at 10:17 AM UTC

Arna_writes

The Art of being different

People call me strange. They say I live in fantasies. They call me weird, shy— A soul who always tries to escape from reality. An impractical, imperfect introvert. But what people don't know is: I’m not strange—just simple and safe in my own space. Not a survivor of fantasies, But someone who uses them to ease the weight of life. Not weird, but vowful. Not an escaper, but an exceptionist. I am not broken—just different. Not lost—just elsewhere. Not weak—just layered. Not escaping—but creating. So let them call me strange, But know this— In a world that often forgets to feel, Maybe strange is exactly what we need.

19

Eyelids fluttering closed, I see those eyes, Swirls of hazel that still thaw my heart, Maybe I should've known from the start, now I'm paying the price, tearing me apart I let him in, a little too fast, held on to him a little too tight, thought I'd survive the blast, that I'd rise, not fall in the fight It's been a whole year since, the scars remain fresh still, maybe one day I'll feel the thrill, when my heart puts together it's flints

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May 10, 2025

May 10, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC

Sreeyaasendil

Striking flints

Eyelids fluttering closed, I see those eyes, Swirls of hazel that still thaw my heart, Maybe I should've known from the start, now I'm paying the price, tearing me apart I let him in, a little too fast, held on to him a little too tight, thought I'd survive the blast, that I'd rise, not fall in the fight It's been a whole year since, the scars remain fresh still, maybe one day I'll feel the thrill, when my heart puts together it's flints

12

I read your poem today— not just the words, but the ache between them. You cut your hair, and somehow the strands fell like silent echoes of everything you’ve lost. But I saw more than sorrow in your lines. I saw a girl standing in front of a mirror, eyes red but brave, wearing grief like a crown that did not crush her. You cry, because you feel deeply— and that, to me, is the most courageous kind of strength. To let the world change you, and still choose to meet it with softness. You speak of those you’ve lost, but do you know what you’ve found? A voice that bleeds honesty, a spirit that bends but never breaks, a beauty that isn't in the hair you lost, but in the fire you quietly carry. I may only know you through verses and distant glances, but I want you to know— someone is reading, someone sees the light tucked gently beneath your grief, and believes in the woman you’re still becoming. And when you looked in that mirror— I wish you could have seen what I saw from afar: not just a girl who cut her hair, but one who’s slowly growing wings.

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May 3, 2025

May 3, 2025 at 7:09 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

The Girl Who Cut Her Hair

I read your poem today— not just the words, but the ache between them. You cut your hair, and somehow the strands fell like silent echoes of everything you’ve lost. But I saw more than sorrow in your lines. I saw a girl standing in front of a mirror, eyes red but brave, wearing grief like a crown that did not crush her. You cry, because you feel deeply— and that, to me, is the most courageous kind of strength. To let the world change you, and still choose to meet it with softness. You speak of those you’ve lost, but do you know what you’ve found? A voice that bleeds honesty, a spirit that bends but never breaks, a beauty that isn't in the hair you lost, but in the fire you quietly carry. I may only know you through verses and distant glances, but I want you to know— someone is reading, someone sees the light tucked gently beneath your grief, and believes in the woman you’re still becoming. And when you looked in that mirror— I wish you could have seen what I saw from afar: not just a girl who cut her hair, but one who’s slowly growing wings.

36

I saw you again, not in presence, but in light, A flicker in the reel, a whisper in the night. Your hands, adjusting your saree with grace, Unaware, you burned your name on my gaze. In a crowd of colors, you were the calm, A breeze in winter, a hush in a psalm. I laughed at my heart, stubborn and wild, Still dreaming of you like a foolish child. They say fate draws lines we cannot bend, That some stories are not meant to transcend. But I— I have danced with the idea of us in my mind, In a parallel world where rules are kind. You wore tradition like a crown that day, And I, a silent poet, looked away. But in dreams, I held your hand, so light— Not to keep, just to feel it once right. They won’t let me call you mine, I know, Same roots, same echoes, that’s how these go. But hearts don’t know of caste or clan, They bloom when they simply can. So if you ever wonder, even in disguise, Why a breeze feels familiar, or tears just rise— Know this: You were a chapter I couldn’t rewrite, A light that warmed me… then slipped out of sight.

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Apr 8, 2025

Apr 8, 2025 at 12:09 PM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

A Ray I Couldn’t Hold

I saw you again, not in presence, but in light, A flicker in the reel, a whisper in the night. Your hands, adjusting your saree with grace, Unaware, you burned your name on my gaze. In a crowd of colors, you were the calm, A breeze in winter, a hush in a psalm. I laughed at my heart, stubborn and wild, Still dreaming of you like a foolish child. They say fate draws lines we cannot bend, That some stories are not meant to transcend. But I— I have danced with the idea of us in my mind, In a parallel world where rules are kind. You wore tradition like a crown that day, And I, a silent poet, looked away. But in dreams, I held your hand, so light— Not to keep, just to feel it once right. They won’t let me call you mine, I know, Same roots, same echoes, that’s how these go. But hearts don’t know of caste or clan, They bloom when they simply can. So if you ever wonder, even in disguise, Why a breeze feels familiar, or tears just rise— Know this: You were a chapter I couldn’t rewrite, A light that warmed me… then slipped out of sight.

26

A wandering soul, so lost, so wide, Drifting through shadows where dreams reside. For ages it wandered, through time and through space, Seeking the moon, its soft silver grace. One day it found, in a small stream’s glow, A reflection of the moon, a light to bestow. It wept in silence, the tears soft and deep, For the love it had lost, for the promises it couldn't keep. The willow tree sighed, its branches low, The soul sat beneath, where the cool winds blow. "I've loved the moon," it whispered, "for eons untold, But I’m trapped on Earth, bound by a cold hold." "Why must I remain in this world so dark, While the moon shines above, like a dream, a spark?" The willow wept softly, its leaves fell away, As the soul, in silence, longed for the day. It gazed at the moon, its heart filled with grace, But forever imprisoned in the Earth's embrace. A soul with no home, no body, no name, Only a love that would never be the same.

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Apr 5, 2025

Apr 5, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC

VAFA

Whispers of the Wandering Soul

A wandering soul, so lost, so wide, Drifting through shadows where dreams reside. For ages it wandered, through time and through space, Seeking the moon, its soft silver grace. One day it found, in a small stream’s glow, A reflection of the moon, a light to bestow. It wept in silence, the tears soft and deep, For the love it had lost, for the promises it couldn't keep. The willow tree sighed, its branches low, The soul sat beneath, where the cool winds blow. "I've loved the moon," it whispered, "for eons untold, But I’m trapped on Earth, bound by a cold hold." "Why must I remain in this world so dark, While the moon shines above, like a dream, a spark?" The willow wept softly, its leaves fell away, As the soul, in silence, longed for the day. It gazed at the moon, its heart filled with grace, But forever imprisoned in the Earth's embrace. A soul with no home, no body, no name, Only a love that would never be the same.

20

Once, you bloomed with reckless grace, soft petals blushing in love’s embrace. The wind would sigh your fragrant name, as morning light adorned your frame. Held in hands that trembled sweet, pressed to lips where longing meets. A whispered promise, a fleeting vow, yet time has traced you different now. Your crimson fades, your petals fall, but love once touched you—that is all. For though you wilt in golden dusk, you lived, you loved, and that’s enough.

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Mar 26, 2025

Mar 26, 2025 at 2:16 PM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

The Wilted Rose

Once, you bloomed with reckless grace, soft petals blushing in love’s embrace. The wind would sigh your fragrant name, as morning light adorned your frame. Held in hands that trembled sweet, pressed to lips where longing meets. A whispered promise, a fleeting vow, yet time has traced you different now. Your crimson fades, your petals fall, but love once touched you—that is all. For though you wilt in golden dusk, you lived, you loved, and that’s enough.

12

Seeker, tell me— what is gold to one who sees only silver? Am I the fool for trading, or is she blind to balancing silver with gold? Even knowing this, still, I throw my gold upon the scales— because love is a gift, not a debt to be repaid. But heed this, Seeker— love is not a bargain; it is a mirror. Only love must redeem love.

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Mar 10, 2025

Mar 10, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC

umar-farooq

Fool’s Gift: Love Without Debt

Seeker, tell me— what is gold to one who sees only silver? Am I the fool for trading, or is she blind to balancing silver with gold? Even knowing this, still, I throw my gold upon the scales— because love is a gift, not a debt to be repaid. But heed this, Seeker— love is not a bargain; it is a mirror. Only love must redeem love.

4

I want to see you as a person, Not your body, Nor the way your fingers curl Around my side When you hold on to me. I want to see you for who you are, Not for what I or the world wants to see. I want to hear your heartbeat, For reasons that may feel selfish to me, But are selfless to you. Your own truth, That has no reason to be, Except for the fact that you wanted it To be. Like a child taking their first step. No matter how wild, they are free. Even if that means separating from me, The further you step. For some, a minute feels like an hour And a day feels like forever, But the fire in your eyes that starts when you smile Keeps me warm, Whenever I think of you, And keeps the shadows away. Until you return

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Feb 19, 2025

Feb 19, 2025 at 2:34 AM UTC

kewayne-wadley

As Human

I want to see you as a person, Not your body, Nor the way your fingers curl Around my side When you hold on to me. I want to see you for who you are, Not for what I or the world wants to see. I want to hear your heartbeat, For reasons that may feel selfish to me, But are selfless to you. Your own truth, That has no reason to be, Except for the fact that you wanted it To be. Like a child taking their first step. No matter how wild, they are free. Even if that means separating from me, The further you step. For some, a minute feels like an hour And a day feels like forever, But the fire in your eyes that starts when you smile Keeps me warm, Whenever I think of you, And keeps the shadows away. Until you return

26

Time and again— I convince myself I'm not waiting— Now or later. What I confessed yesterday— It was nothing more than to make your day. I can compete with someone who likes you, But I can't compete with someone you like. Don't worry about me, sir I stand in freedom.

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Dec 1, 2024

Dec 1, 2024 at 6:22 AM UTC

salsabila

CONFESS ⟡˖࿔

Time and again— I convince myself I'm not waiting— Now or later. What I confessed yesterday— It was nothing more than to make your day. I can compete with someone who likes you, But I can't compete with someone you like. Don't worry about me, sir I stand in freedom.

9

The earth revolves around the sun The moon revolves around the earth Your life revolves around the night moon And my love revolves around you

0

Nov 23, 2024

Nov 23, 2024 at 5:16 AM UTC

KN

Revolution of love

The earth revolves around the sun The moon revolves around the earth Your life revolves around the night moon And my love revolves around you

4