Transform your life,
Into a symphony of mirth,
A radiant melody—
For one day,
Laughter will falter,
And silence will claim the stage.

From fleeting moments,
Weave enduring beauty.
Let your words
Rise as art,
Each line a testament
To the spirit unyielding.

When time erases echoes,
Your creation shall linger—
A timeless gift to the void.

Today is younger than tomorrow,
Yet older than yesterday,
A fleeting moment caught in the stream
Where yesterday’s toddler
Grows into today’s swift runner,
And tomorrow’s old man
Wanders with his cane.

The world remains a place of pain,
A ceaseless cycle of becoming and fading.
Yesterday’s lecturer, once a figure of wisdom,
Now finds himself lost to the madness of today.

In this relentless march of time,
Each phase transforms and redefines,
An unending journey from youth to frailty,
Where past roles dissolve into the present’s strain.

I saw her there,
Standing quietly
Under the soft, flickering glow
Of a streetlight.
Her skin, pale as cotton,
Contrasted sharply
With her dark, gothic attire
And hair blacker than
A raven’s wing
In the dead of night.

She was petite,
With delicate features
That hinted at a secret—
The kind a fairy
Or pixie might hold.
Though I had places to be,
Her gentle smile and curious gaze
Kept me rooted.

Courage appears
When you need it most.
In that moment,
I had to know her name.
But in a world so jaded,
How could we tell
If either of us
Wasn’t just playing
A trivial game?

As my throat tightened,
Her smile widened,
Perhaps a silent invitation—
And every part of me
Hoped it was true.

Since that night,
When Cupid’s arrow
Struck us both,
Our lives have intertwined,
Filled with light and laughter,
Along with untimely tears.
A love once doubted by many
Has grown stronger,
Thriving through the years.

I am a poet
Who paints with words.
My words are my crayons
Your understanding is
Your new poem .
My poems are inspiring
To all artists
But not all poets .

Today is  worse than  yesterday,
But better than tomorrow.
Today is a lost day
Yesterday was a gift!
But hard to accept this shift.
What is time,
If today is not yesterday?
Look for your day
But don't make of it
A dramatic play!
No ,I don't want to say
That your day is my day .

Title: Lingering Wounds

The vestiges of my wounds persist,
Undeniably unhealed as the passage of years ensues.
A palpable sense of self-negation prevails,
The weight of the past causing an abrupt collapse.

The reservoir of tears, once considered a remedy,
Proves futile in altering the irrevocable theft.
Today's scars are emblematic remnants,
Echoing the enduring pain of yesterdays.

Irrespective of station, be it doctor or pop star,
A singular destiny awaits, beyond the horizon afar.
The temporal journey's end, it shall conceive,
Leaving behind a mere vestige, in memory we believe.
In the grand tapestry of life, where dreams transpire,
All possessions, we hold, briefly do they aspire,
Transient treasures in our transient chest,
A poignant reminder, life's fleeting bequest