The scent of autumn lingers like an unspoken goodbye,
hanging in the air, thick with memories I cannot erase.
The crisp whisper of dying leaves grazes my skin—
a ghostly echo of your touch, fleeting and bittersweet.
Once, we walked upon these very leaves,
crushing them beneath careless footsteps,
the way you crushed my heart—without hesitation, without pause.

You vanished like the wind,
leaving no footprint, no farewell,
just a silence so deafening it swallowed me whole.
And yet, even in your absence, you haunt me.
What are you up to now?
Do you ever stop and wonder if the ashes of what we were
still smolder somewhere within me?

Time, they say, heals all wounds.
But what of the wounds that refuse to close?
Seasons passed, but the winter inside me stayed.
I thought I would move on with the turning of the leaves,
but my heart remained shackled to the past.

I nurtured us.
Planted seeds of tenderness,
watered them with love,
let the sunlight of my devotion bathe them.
But in the dark, it was only winterberry—
beautiful to the eye, poisonous to the touch.
And you, you did not just let it wither.
You diseased the roots.
You let it rot while I still believed it could bloom.

You did not just leave.
You hollowed me out.
You splintered my soul,
turned my love into a sickness I could not cure.
I was left clawing at the remains of myself,
desperate to bring life back to what you destroyed.

Now I walk, but I do not feel alive.
My heart no longer races, no longer aches—it is still, frozen.
My blood has turned to red crystals, sharp and jagged,
reflecting regret, hatred, frustration.
A ruin, a monument to everything we could have been.

Was it fate?
Fate is a cruel joke told by the heartbroken.
No, this was not fate—this was deception,
dressed in the warmth of a lover’s arms.

My lips, once softened by your whispers,
are now cold as winter’s first frost.
Had I known I was merely a pen in your hand,
used until the ink bled dry,
I would have never written our story.

Move on, they tell me.
As if love were a season to be endured and forgotten.
As if I did not love you the way Giselle loved—
blind, unknowing, doomed from the start.

I don’t have what they call success,
But that doesn’t make me any less.
I walk a path that’s mine to pave,
A different way—a road I'm brave.

No paper defines the worth I hold,
No stamp, no seal, no weight of gold.
Nothing to lose, nothing to fear,
I stand my ground, my vision clear.

I won’t fall begging for their boots,
I won’t steal—I’ll grow my roots.
Hard work builds, while greed decays,
I’ll walk the honest, brighter ways.

I fear no gods, but deeds gone wrong,
No villain’s path, no hero’s song.
I won’t be shaped by how they see,
I am the lead—my life, my key.

Their words can’t shake what I define,
I breathe, I stand, the sky is mine.
One day, I’ll rise, I’ll claim my place,
Their doubts won’t reach my guarded space.

I am not my past, nor sins before,
Not bound by blood that schemed for more.
I am the fearless, standing tall,
Unfazed by loss, untouched by fall.

I died the day I came alive,
Yet here I stand, I burn, I thrive.
The monster I once feared to be,
Now walks with pride—now walks as me.

A blue bloom where red ones grow,
Unfit for them, yet strong, I glow.
Let them judge, let whispers swirl,
I love myself—that shakes their world.

I waltz with the wind, a feather so free,
Pirouette past judgment—none sticks to me.
They call me a loner, a drifting tune,
But I’m just a comet, outpacing the moon.

The sun tips its hat, “Hey, how do you do?”
I wink and say, “Shining—just like you.”
The mist slinks close, all broody and blue,
I twirl through its whispers—sorry, not you!

The world hands me a rulebook, thick as a wall,
I turn it to paper planes—watch them all fall.
They build their castles on standards tall,
I carve out my kingdom where stardust calls.

Born in June, kissed by June’s breeze,
I hum my own song through the rustling trees.
I tango with raindrops, flirt with the sky,
A runaway melody, too bold to comply.

They nudge, “You must be living a dream!”
I sip my tea, let out some steam—
“A dream? Oh dear, if only you knew,
It’s just me, my pen, and a sky so blue.”

No filters, no frames, just ink that flows,
Dancing through life—however it goes.

The shimmer in your eyes—
A soft glow, a silent sonnet,
A universe where only we exist.
My teary-eyed love,
I don’t own you, yet I belong to you,
And you are mine, woven into my soul.

I watch the light bend in your gaze,
Refracting love like a thousand stars,
Scattering pieces of you into my soul.
The wind whispers our fate,
And I listen, tracing its song,
For every whisper speaks your name.

But if destiny dares to write us apart,
I will burn its pages to ashes,
Ink our names into eternity,
With the fire in my heart.

The veil of trust that graces your head,
I vow to guard it, cherish it,
With hands unshaken, with love unbreakable.
No storm, no time, no force of heaven or hell
Will ever make me let you go.

Be my bride, my moonlit prayer,
The sacred dream I wake to each day.
I will take your hand beneath the sun’s golden embrace,
Trace my lips across your fingertips,
And under the hush of the silver moon,
I will kiss you where our love first bloomed.

Let me be your home, your shelter,
The arms you run to when the world turns cold.
I will carry your burdens as if they were mine,
And walk through the fire so you never burn.

You are irreplaceable—my only, my always,
Not a mere chapter but my entire book,
Not a fleeting moment but my forever.

Let me leave this world before you,
Forgive my selfish plea—
For I cannot bear to see your tears,
Each one a crystal more precious than life itself.

I will not falter, I will not break,
For you, I would walk through the storms,
Through sorrow, through hell itself,
If it means leading you to heaven.

Every hour, every minute, every breath—
I am yours, as you are mine,
Now, always, and beyond the stars.

I shiver, the cold bites deep,
The world an open book—its lessons steep.
It whispers, You must not be you,
Yet mocks when doubt clouds my view.

They judge, yet say, Oh, just don’t care!
If it’s so simple, then why not dare?
I know—I swear—it is not my crime,
To defy the mold, to stretch past time.

I will rise, a tempest untamed,
Like the moon that calls the sea unnamed.
Not a thief of borrowed light,
But a fire that burns through endless night.

Underdogs walk with voices hushed,
Not for lack of spark, but trust—
For even silence shapes the great,
A force unseen, yet sealing fate.

The sky hangs low, heavy with sorrow, A shroud of dying light swallowed by dusk. The road stretches endless, ink-black and cold, A path carved from shadows, whispering loss.

Once, I feared losing— Now, the weight of loss has hollowed me out. My heart, a withered leaf, bends toward the earth, Too heavy to lift, too broken to mend.

The ailing earth bears its desiccation wounds, Silent cracks gaping like a mouth that forgot how to weep. Beneath, the tears fester, trapped in roots of grief. Above, the clouds swell, burdened with unwept sobs.

Little did the mist know— That sorrow shared does not make it lesser. Little did the earth know— That to weep is not to wither.

The laughter of yesterday lies buried, untouched, Ghosts of joy sleeping in graves of time. Memories drift in vapor, unclaimed echoes, Carried away by the wind, never to return whole.

Two roses once stood, entwined in silent promise— To shield, to stay, to survive. Now, brittle petals crumble into the dirt, Wilted souls crossing death’s threshold together.

Little did the mist or the earth know— The roses loved them too. Yet even as they withered, they clung, fierce, Their last wish: to leave behind nothing, Not even the pain they carried.

The rain doesn't fall; it drowns.
Clouds hang low, pregnant with sorrow, weeping endlessly.
Thunder doesn't roar; it grieves, splitting the sky open like a wound.
The earth, once thirsty, now suffocates beneath the weight of too much love.
It begs for flowers, for color, for hope—
But fate is cruel, and fortune never blooms in a flood.

The tree, once proud, stands broken, breathless.
Its limbs, heavy with sorrow, bow to the ground.
Some snap, some shatter, some sink into the mud, forgotten.
No birds, no fruit, no whispering leaves—
Only bare, trembling bones of wood remain.
Once, the rain was a melody. Now, it's a requiem.

A train runs on weary tracks, but its journey is silent.
No laughter in its compartments, no warm hands waving from the windows.
Just empty seats, echoing with ghosts of friendships that never stayed.

The engine—once burning with dreams—
Now chokes on the ashes of what could have been.
It rusts beneath words like "Move on."
It crumbles beneath whispers of "Stop exaggerating."
The coal of passion has turned to dust,
And the wheels—exhausted—drag through the days, waiting for an end.

A track switch, a desperate turn—
But the new path is no salvation.
It floods with hollow sympathies, drowns in veiled threats.
The storm howls, then vanishes, leaving only drought behind.
And the train?
It no longer moves. It no longer breaks.
It simply exists—numb, rusting, forgotten.

I know you're waiting—
Not just by instinct, but by soul.
A thread binds us, unseen yet strong,
And I swear to protect it, never let it fray.
Wait for me.

For your peace, for theirs, I must fight.
Discipline is law, obedience is fate,
Yet my enemy, too, has a family that waits.
Why do we fight, when we could simply be?
Why do borders carve wounds into destiny?

I do not know of gods,
But I hear your prayers, whispered through time.
I will return, my love, no matter how many stand in my way.
Victory matters, but so does the weight of a soul.
Each life I take—someone waits for them too.
Each thread I sever—someone’s world shatters too.

I love you, yet how can I abandon this field,
When my brothers-in-arms fall beside me?
I see their last breath, hear their silent pleas.
I need your empathy, not just your faith.

Bullets, swift and ruthless, know their path.
A soldier's purpose is clear, but is it right?
Our goals are noble, but our road is painted in blood.
The paths we choose, the lives we lose—
And still, I long for you.

Three borders stand between love and war,
Three lines drawn in dust, dividing hearts.
If I return, if fate allows,
Let’s leave behind these walls,
And drive far, far away—where war cannot follow.

I know you're waiting—
not by instinct, but by soul.
Like the silver moon calls the tide,
like roots whisper to the earth,
we are bound by a thread unseen,
delicate yet unbreakable.
And I swear, my love,
I will never let it fray.

But for your peace, for theirs,
I must walk this battlefield of fate.
Here, discipline is law, steel is truth,
yet the men I face—do they not dream?
Do they not have hands that once held love,
eyes that once gazed at a home?
Why must we carve wounds into the soil
when all it ever did was cradle our steps?

I do not know of gods,
but I hear your prayers,
soft as the wind, warm as dawn.
I will return to you, my love,
no matter how many shadows stand in my way.
Victory calls, but so does guilt,
for each name that fades in the dust
was once whispered by someone who waited, too.

I love you, but how can I fear
when my brothers fall like autumn leaves?
Their blood seeps into the earth,
their voices linger in the wind.
I need your faith, yes, but more—
I need your sorrow, your understanding.
Let me be strong, but let me grieve.

Bullets are sharp-tongued messengers,
swift, ruthless, never lost.
They find their mark with unwavering grace,
but tell me, my love—does grace lie in ruin?
Our cause is noble, but our hands are stained.
Our road is paved with purpose,
yet flooded with ghosts.

Three borders, nothing more,
yet they rise like mountains between hearts.
Three lines drawn in dust,
and we call it war.
If I return, if fate is kind,
let us leave this all behind.
Let me take your hand,
and drive far, far away—
to a place where war cannot follow,
where only love remains.

Memories we made,
our twenties like gold,
where time stood still,
and love never grew old.

I grew beside you,
step by step, hand in hand—
of course, I remember,
every moment, every glance.

Those precious days—
our eyes first met,
our voices intertwined,
blindfolded in love,
fingers laced in the winter's cold.
You always lent me your glove,
by the campfire, wrapped in warmth,
hushed laughter dancing with the flames.

I still have the shawl—
woven with love,
stitched with whispers,
threaded with promises.
Every fiber holds a memory,
every word you spoke, a treasure.

We fought, we mended,
love—never fragile, never tame.
We adored the golden leaves,
never once realizing
they were old and fading,
just like fleeting time.

Spring came,
the flowers bloomed,
bathed in honeyed light.
The sunset kissed your face,
orange hues ricocheting off your skin—
My love, how beautiful you are!
I fell for you, again and again.

Summer burned bright,
yet through your curls, I found shade.
We shared icy desserts,
whispered wishes for endless summers.
I drowned in your gaze,
a universe in your eyes—
your touch, a heartbeat quickening,
your embrace, a universe won.

"Don't leave me," I pleaded.
"I never will," you promised.
But love, fate is cruel—
the universe shattered,
taking a part of my heart with you.

I loved you fiercely,
cherished every moment,
every breath we shared.
"Cry, but not too much," you once said.
So, I won’t—
after all, I have always been obedient.

Did you receive the flowers I brought this morning?
I visit you every day, but today feels different.
Today, my love,
is the day you left me.

Memories we made,
our twenties like gold,
where time stood still,
and love never grew old.

Rest peacefully, my angel

The one who stands unwavering,
Through every storm and restless tide,
Who turns your troubles into whispers,
And wipes your tears with pride.

She works in silence, day and night,
So you can rise and shine,
A beacon in your darkest hours,
Her love, the brightest light.

In a world of false promises,
She is the one true vow,
A rare rose without a thorn,
Blooming where no others grow.

She walks barefoot on shattered glass,
Clearing every jagged piece,
Bearing wounds she never shows,
So your path remains at peace.

She is careless when it comes to herself,
But careful when it’s you,
She carries your worries like her own,
And makes the heavy feel light too.

She pushes you beyond your limits,
So you never fear the test,
For life will throw its hardest trials,
And she’ll make sure you’re prepared best.

You’ll never know the weight she bears,
Unless you stand where she once stood,
She breaks the walls of fear and doubt,
And turns them into something good.

She shields you when the cold winds blow,
Yet never asks for warmth in return,
She gives, she bends, she quietly breaks—
Yet asks for nothing in return.

Yes, I speak of your greatest warrior,
The one who makes you strong,
The iron woman, the gentle light—
Your mother, all along.

Love—so pure, yet so painful.
It either breaks you or makes you whole.
It distracts from sorrow,
Yet can be the source of it.

We dance in the rain,
Our time never wasted, never in vain.
Sharing a single meal, dividing every bite—This is all we can afford, my love.

I have little to give, and I won’t pretend otherwise.
I can’t offer you the moon or the stars,
But I’ll light a lantern to guide our way.
We’ll build a small home, just enough for us—A tiny door, but endless space in our hearts.

No gold, no silver—just us.
Rich in love, standing tall without wealth.
Through the coldest winters, I’ll never leave,
And in every spring, I’ll celebrate you.
No grand journeys, no cars speeding away,
But under snowy skies, I’ll always stay.

With all my heart, I love you.
No riches, no grandeur—just this promise.
This simple, ordinary poem is yours,
Forever belonging to you, my love.

Love—so tender, yet bittersweet,
A force that mends, yet breaks with ease.
It soothes the soul in moments brief,
Yet leaves behind the deepest grief.

We dance beneath the silver rain,
Where time is never spent in vain.
A humble meal, a modest share,
Yet love alone sustains us there.

I cannot promise worlds so grand,
Nor place the stars within your hand.
But in the glow of lantern light,
We'll build a home, serene and bright.

No wealth defines the love we weave,
For riches fade, but hearts believe.
Through winter’s chill and springtime’s bloom,
I vow to stand, through light and gloom.

No gilded throne, no vast domain,
Yet in your arms, all joys remain.
This simple verse, though plain and true,
Belongs forever, love, to you.

When the weight of the patriarchy presses on my shoulders,
when my body bleeds in cycles, when birth is a battlefield,
I wonder—will they **** it if it’s a girl?
The book has its rules—were they ever just?
If justice lived in ink, I wouldn’t be writing this poem.

She cries, but her tears freeze—
a cold society, a colder breeze.
Whispers coil around her ankles after divorce,
judgment sharper than the wind.

The mother walks alone, carrying a piece of her body,
a universe cradled in tired arms.
She whispers, I will not let them trap you in this abyss,
my little beauty, my little star.

She walks, even when weary,
nurturing the seed she always admired.
The man left her,
just as he left another daughter.

Who gave him the power?
Neither God nor the constitution,
but the heavy hand of society’s blind tradition.

Yet the mother stands—iron-hearted, unbreakable.
She tends her garden with calloused hands,
waters her children with love,
lets them bloom beneath a sun that others have long forgotten.

Still, the world turns on its irony:
the kind-hearted walk on shards of glass,
while snakes sip wine from Bordeaux crystal.

They call it balance—
give and take, they say.
Yet a woman always pays the price
for the desires of men.

When do you think was the last time we hugged?
When do you think was the last time we kissed and cuddled?
Yeah, it hasn't been so many days,
But trust me, I’m already breaking in a thousand ways.
Don’t — don’t just walk in front of me,
You’re my neighbor, and it’s killing me.
Why did it have to end like this?
Was I not as pretty as the other girls you kissed?
Why did you break my heart like it was nothing?
Are you even human to hurt me this stunningly?
You changed the way I looked at the world,
The flower bloomed, new to the world.
It only knew warmth, like a mother's care,
It never imagined cruelty could be there.
But now the petals wither, no light, no rain,
And you call it "exaggerating" — was love just a game?
Then I know… you never knew love.
I saw you at the same café, sipping cappuccino,
You looked through me like I was a ghost you used to know.
Was I not kind enough, not sweet enough to taste?
Did the pancakes I made feel like a bitter mistake?
The scarf I knitted with love — did it not warm you through?
Did I ever mean anything to you?
They say drugs are the worst addiction,
But you were worse — a pain with no prescription.
The love I gave — pure and kind,
Now the lens I see the world through is painfully blind.
Even if I heal, I know one thing for sure…
The scars you left, love won’t ever cure.
They say drugs are the worst addiction,
But you were worse — a pain with no prescription.
The love I gave — pure and kind,
Now the lens I see the world through is painfully blind.
Even if I heal, I know one thing for sure…
The scars you left, love won’t ever cure.
The flower never knew the world could be cruel,
It thought love was pure, but you broke every rule.
And now the bloom has faded, like a dream undone,
But you’ll never know love — because you never loved anyone.
I might move on, someday, I swear…
But the damage in my heart? — No love can repair.