Wandering in the corridors of my heart
Somewhere in a mystical part
I came across a curious door
But It felt like the life's core
It was decorated with joyful lights
Which had brighten my dark sight
On opening the door, the new world emerge
I entered it as my heart urge
After entering I felt untroubled
Suddenly my happiness is doubled
It has a world where everyone cheers
As if in the world there is no fear
Everyone lives the life without thinking
The time passed as fast as I was blinking
The world was full of curiosity
No one has any animosity
Here comes the beautiful and crucial memory
Which is actually a priceless treasury
Moments shared with our childhood friends
Even in a complicated trouble , the fun never ends
They were partners in our crimes
Those friends are like our hearts's rhymes
They were our life's shadows
Whose effect follows us to every meadows
Those days are unforgettable
And the memories are truly incridible
The door was of our recollection
The childhood memories are really a priceless affection !!!
Copyright © Aastha Anand | Year Posted 2025
Dead dreams deserve a burial,
But where do I bury them?
My peeving heart-It is way too heavy,
My disappointed eyes-they are weary,
Cherished memories - I really haven’t any,
Art isn’t my cup of tea.
Nor can I write poetry
Neither is my juggled mind ready.
Dead dreams deserve a funeral.
But how do I mourn them?
Bleed my heart or tie a knot,
Drink my tears or bawl eyes out,
Crush memories or leave them to rot,
pent up emotions or express my thought,
wander my mind or get it to dot.
Dead dreams are hauntingly ethereal,
But where do they dwell?
They linger in heartbeats,
in thoughts left to swell
Not lost, not vanished,
but drifting in air—In echoes of poetry,
in art laid bare.
Copyright © abdul Mannan | Year Posted 2025
Why do I love God? Why do we adore?
For me, it's simple: He created me, and more.
In His image, I'm crafted, a work of art divine,
A reflection of His love, a heart that beats in rhyme.
He loved me first, before I knew His name,
Before I understood the depth of His holy flame.
He pursued me, gently, like a summer breeze,
And whispered truths that only my heart could seize.
In darkness, I once wandered, lost and alone,
A shattered vessel, broken, like a mirror overthrown.
But He found me, like a treasure hidden in the night,
And lifted me up, like a phoenix rising into new light.
He asked me, 'Where are you?' like a shepherd seeking his sheep,
And I confessed, 'I'm hiding, ashamed, my heart does weep.'
But He didn't judge me; instead, He showed me His gentle face,
And said, 'Turn from your past, and I'll give you a brand-new place.'
I chose to follow Him, like a traveler finding a guiding star,
And He filled me with potential, like a vessel overflowing from afar.
Now, I'm a voice of hope, a messenger of love and light,
A reflection of His beauty, shining like a beacon in the night.
So, I ask you, dear friend, what is God to you?
Is He a distant concept, or a loving presence that shines through?
Why do you love God? What draws you to His heart?
Is it the promise of eternal life, or the peace that never departs?
If I were to ask you, why do you choose to serve Him?
What would be your answer? What is your expectation?
What is your love for God? What is your relationship with Him?
Are you willing to surrender your life, to let His love shine within?
If you were to describe yourself in the place of God,
What kind of human would you be? Would you be just, or would you be odd?
Would you show mercy, or would you show might?
Would you love unconditionally, or would you demand what's right?
These questions, dear friend, are not meant to condemn,
But to inspire reflection, and to help us comprehend
The depth of God's love, and the height of His grace,
And to encourage us to seek Him, with a humble heart and a willing pace.
Copyright © Abraham Solomon | Year Posted 2025
I gave up on everything, I gave up on everyone.
I know this is a heaven, but I just don't think it was meant for me.
If you knew me you would judge me for all those mistakes
So like the rest of us I carry this smile on my face and act like everything is alright as I try not to break.
My smile is like the love you gave me but all along it was fake
Copyright © Abusufyan Kateregga Bogere | Year Posted 2025
Did you know that
Flamingos love to tango?
Three steps forward, one side step,
Shake of the hips, they end the prep.
Quick, quick, slow, gracefully slide,
Flamingos dance as colorful as mango.
Copyright © Alannah Dyer | Year Posted 2025
With the sudden pang in your abdomen
And the onslaught of terror,
Did you look around one last time
At the familiar keepsakes on the fireplace
Or did you avert your gaze?
In the frosty darkness of that night
As you climbed to that holy shrine
With mud colllecting at your ankles,
Did the Virgin hail her unexpected visitor
or did she avert her eyes?
And as you laid there,
In your bed of stone
And when that moment came at last,
Tell me, were you revealed or petrified
As you finally held what was always yours?
Were you afraid you’d burn -
Not like the sages in their holy fire
Or were you pierced with peace,
Gazing into his evanescent eyes
In that still darkness of the night?
Copyright © Alice Cortazar | Year Posted 2025
I want to buy a wardrobe,
And in it I place my name
In the top left corner
Of its darkest spot.
I want to buy a wardrobe
And in it put a billion chambers,
To keep my name safe
From vultures aimed
To pounce tiger like
And tear it into pieces.
I want to hide my name,
From the sadistic and narcissistic
Individuals aimed to put a show
And from it their fame
Grows
Heart hurt to smithereens.
I want to hide my name,
In the many chambers
Of my wardrobe
Made of finest of steel
And many padlocks
To shield it from scavengers sharp claws
Stinking hold of its skin.
The name I want to hide,
Is bleeding with a fire
That does not burn
Busy on Kabale streets
Sweeping the floor clean
And babbling on all town walls
Of a native
That ashames the kin
And the nation at large
I want to hide my name.
I want to buy a wardrobe,
And in it I lay my name
In the top right corner
Of its brightest spot.
And only then,
Will My name be free...
Copyright © Ankwasa Harlord | Year Posted 2025
In a sky not ours, your name still shines brighter than ever.
Through cosmic storms and trials we sever, yet love remains our endless endeavor.
Through endless stars and fate untold, our souls entwine, forever bold.
Through fate’s embrace, dreams retold. Our love glows brighter then molten gold.
The stars may scold, the winds will chide. But love remains, a fire inside.
Through starlit trails where fate resides, your love remains my constant guide.
Beyond all worlds, through time untried, love leads us forth, a light inside.
Copyright © Anna Wakeman | Year Posted 2025
Listen to poem:
Lessons from Shakespeare
Here’s a song of tragedies
Four plays from bygone times
Shakespeare did the penmanship
For these heroic crimes.
Hamlet was a stately prince
King Lear a royal dad
Othello was a noble man
Macbeth was just plain bad.
From these stories we can learn
That great men can have flaws
And even in this century
We all can crash and burn.
Come on now and pull your socks up
Pull yourself together,
Think of your Ophelia
who needs you to get better.
Will you be or won’t you be -
Just make your mind up quick,
Before the others bring you down
With sword of poison trick.
Alas too late revenge is nigh
And not the one you thought
For old Polonius is dead
And you’re the one who’s sought.
(Is there comfort in the thought
That Hamlet came to know
That nothing’s either good or bad
But thinking makes it so.)
My love and I are just one flesh
My Desdemona true
The very thought of losing her
Just make me feel plain blue
They say I have a jealous mind
My one and only flaw
I think the fault entirely hers
Perhaps I should make sure.
My first mate says it’s really so
So what should I believe?
He saw her with his own good eyes
Give him her handkerchief.
(Iago’s plot to bring him down
Succeeded to a T
Perhaps Othello’s not so great
A captain of the seas.)
I love my wife she wants to put
A crown upon my head.
She tells me that it is my fate
There must be some blood shed.
And so I tried, upon my life
I did what I have done
But the dagger that I slew him with
Returns to haunt my mind.
Yet now I’m king, my wife is queen
What more is there to do?
My wife appears to lose her wits
I’m sure that she’ll pull through.
(So it seemed to both of them
The way was clearly shown
But by snuffing out another’s life
Macbeth destroyed his own.)
Hamlet was a stately prince
King Lear a royal dad
Othello was a noble man
Macbeth was just plain bad.
And through these stories we can see
Some universal themes
But more importantly than that
A world of poetry.
Copyright © Annabel Fraser | Year Posted 2025
I just want to hold you in my arms,
have you close to me.
I can't look back knowing you'll be missing— a pain I cannot bear.
I want to look ahead,
and find you standing, waiting there...
But there comes a time where a bird must fly,
and you can't keep it in its cage or it will die.
So I set you free,
hoping you will come back to me.
But deep down I know,
I have lost thee.
Copyright © Arno Kotze | Year Posted 2025
I am not one to keep a sinking ship afloat,
nor am i one to captain a drowning crew.
Sacrificing self for an inevitable end is a thirst never quite quenched.
Surrounded by water, what is the point when it is filled with salt; sorrow and a disposition for the petty?
Do not be the vain captain of a sinking ship.
Narcissism and a need for control will strain relationships,
give birth to dubious loyalty,
the curse of blood is not the royalty you think it is.
blood and debt is not enough to keep the ship afloat.
Patch the holes present.
Build boards that last; not ones diminished and impaired by fear,
but ones repaired with words held dear,
then maybe the ship may reach its destination… once adversary is clear.
Copyright © Aydin Shafer | Year Posted 2025
There is something just so incredibly magical about nighttime.
The quiet hours and the dark sky by the moon made sublime.
Whispered words travel through the gloomy atmosphere,
Nothing is more real than a nighttime word, a sigh, a tear.
The night, with its black cloak and soft embrace, shields us from it all
And it allows us to strip naked, to be genuine, to confess, to break, to fall.
The night is intimate, it’s personal, an old friend whom we can always rely on,
A friend that will listen to the words that we would never pronounce after the break of dawn.
A friend that allows us to get rid of the masks we wear in the light,
And, rid of all veils in its pitch-black presence, we can shine so bright.
The night has been witness to so many things the day will always ignore,
Love confessions, heartbreaks, embraces, and all of humanity’s guarded lore.
The sun, with its golden rays and reassuring and constant presence,
Will never have anything over the silver moon’s hypnotizing essence.
The day shines on people and their lives, whether they like it or not,
It shines on their smiles and happiness, and for this, it holds in everyone’s heart a special spot.
Yet it shines regardless of people’s desire for it to do so because it is free
Therefore, shedding light on their weaknesses for the entire world to see.
For this reason, I think, people seek the comfort only the night can provide,
Under whose protection they can hide, with no expectations to abide.
The moon has seen things the sun never will,
She reached down to dry tears spilled by her admirers on their windowsill.
Copyright © Beatrice Biavati | Year Posted 2025
I dwelt within a house of shade,
By silent hand and sorrow made.
Each brick I laid with trembling care—
Of shame, of guilt, of cold despair.
No hearth did warm, no lamp did gleam,
But dimness thick as haunted dream.
No welcome waits behind the door,
Only the hush of evermore.
The days are long, yet never bright,
And stretch like wounds into the night.
No sun dares press against the pane—
Just fog, and hush, and weeping rain.
The floors do groan with every breath,
The mirrors gaze like eyes of death.
The windows sigh with unseen grief,
Each corner curled like withered leaf.
And yet—I stay. I do not flee.
This house, this gloom, is home to me.
Here silence wears a softer dress—
No need for cheer, no need to guess.
No laughing crowds, no hopeful din,
Just steady ache that dwells within.
No sudden joy, no searing dread—
Just whispers in my weary head.
I know these walls, each pallid seam,
Each echo of a buried dream.
The ghosts, they sit with quiet grace—
I know each shadow’s sunken face.
They speak not loud, nor plead, nor moan—
For in this house, I’m not alone.
To some, this place brings terror near,
The stillness thick, the creeping fear.
But I—have found a peace, in part,
In pain that pulses from the heart.
The world beyond spins far too fast,
With futures blurred and spells long passed.
But here, the sorrow is my own—
It carves its shape into my bone.
No pity ask I from the light,
Nor cure for this enduring night.
I rest in rooms of solemn tone—
This house of dark, this heart of stone.
Yes, I have dreamt of skies once clear,
Of laughter pure and love sincere.
But now I drift through twilight’s dome—
For grief, for now, has made its home.
And should some dawn reach through the gray,
To beckon me, to bid me stay—
Perchance I’ll rise, or break the spell…
But 'til that hour, I know too well:
This hush, this ache, this sacred gloom—
It is my hearth. It is my room
Copyright © butch reichard | Year Posted 2025
This is a list that could go on and on
From sandy beaches to bourbons
Every little thing can make me smile
Dogs and cats and little fishies too
Teddy bears, puzzles and painting
Bring joy without compare
Family and friends bring joy and laughter
But what really makes me smile true
Is you
Copyright © Catherine Maskrey | Year Posted 2025
This motion is remembered with feelings of pain, strife and anguish,
But why don’t we recall the beauty in which we now relish.
The movement of ‘Black lives matter’ is as tantamount as the rising of the
sun in the morning,
Both are essential, yet they both be overlooked.
The beauty in our diversity is derived from our tenacity,
Unique our color be, yet subtle our strength be perceived,
The alluring aspect is not who we are, but who we have become.
Silenced our voice be alone, even so, they do not want to mess with our
simultaneous tone.
Quiet we be no more, for there is true beauty in we the overlooked.
We have come to be the voices that are now heard, as charming as the
sea unperturbed.
Undisturbed we have Finally come to be, however brethren, ask yourselves
who we truly are.
I BELEVE WE ARE LOST PIECES OF THE SAME PUZZEL,
ALONE WE GO UNNOTICED,
BUT TOGETHER WE BE AS THREATENING AS A CLOSED FIST.
Copyright © Chilio Ficcioli | Year Posted 2025
Stress’s Silent Cry
I feel misunderstood, abused as an emotion,
They kick me aside, saying I hinder their motion.
It's not my fault, I was made to make you feel beat and defeated,
But if you ignore me, I call on my shadow, Pain, to be completed.
Now you’ll feel the world’s hatred,
But all I want is to be heard.
I am Stress, I care more than all your friends,
I show you the way, even in sight of dead ends.
As a friend, my job is to help you stop your motion,
Too much speed could give you a concussion.
I am Stress, I’m different from the rest,
People try to escape me with a rope,
But I’m just trying to introduce my best friend, Hope.
Like a spy, I give you insight of the fight,
Yet you choose to lose your light.
So don’t leave me in the mess,
For you need me just to have rest.
By Little One and Nova
Copyright © Chindikani Mwafulirwa | Year Posted 2025