There’s a quiet heart upon the wall
that breaks the day in equal parts,
blind to the heavy tears that fall,
and careless of our weary hearts.
It treats a life like one quick breath,
counting the hours, cold and gray—
a gear that grinds away our breath,
where every second slips away.
And yet... time bends when passion burns,
and minutes stretch to touch the sky;
a single look, where longing turns,
can make a decade pass us by.
For all those weeks spent on routine
fade out like smoke in morning air,
while depth reclaims what life can mean,
and stays with us when we are there.
A clock measures duration, but depth counts time.
The Quiet Sovereign
by Christopher Haywood
2 October 2026
A thunderous speech can fill the space,
And shake the rafters, loud and proud,
Directing every turned-up face,
To sway the court and move the crowd.
It claims the air, it claims the hall,
With ringing words that heavily fall—
A passing wave that fills it all,
Then fades into a hollow sigh.
Yet when the bluster breaks away,
And heavy stillness settles in,
A deeper presence comes to stay,
Beneath the quiet, past the din.
For noise can rule the physical space,
And capture every wandering eye,
But silence meets you face to face,
Where no conviction fits a lie.
The loud voice commands the room;
The clear silence commands the mind.
He peers into the mirror of his life
His curiosity expands the scope
Their silver Autumn season stained with strife
He whispers nightly prayers beside his wife
But time has brought them to a slip’ry slope
He peers into the mirror of his life
Her disability cuts like a knife
With choices disappearing as they cope
Their silver Autumn season stained with strife
Enduring pain and worry ever rife
She prays for some relief and strength to cope
He peers into the mirror of his life
Each day she tries to claim a fuller life
A better goal than reasons found to mope
Their silver Autumn season stained with strife
She counts her blessings and God’s gift of life
The anchor for her soul remains her hope
He peers into the mirror of his life
Their silver Autumn season stained with strife
An expiration date has been given
Like a common loaf you would bake
This one slightly differs, as past due is the date
Delve deep into the depths, where mysteries do lurk
To pluck out an answer, one might not think will work
You will find each foot planted, in a very shallow grave
Which one will get you there quicker, a choice must be made
But in the end it doesn't matter, the result stays the same
So now you must choose wisely, a balance must be paid
It all boils down to that inevitable, unfair trade
For what so impresses
Up through each of its life form's
Widespread uniqueness
Your one fingerprint, lord
A maker's, disclose.
For what, more sombre-stilled
Out through each of its face's
Mercy-softness, spilled
Your own reflection, Lord
Do, clearest expose.
Surrounded by my friends
But I still go home and start
Writing all alone in my room
Thoughts keep coming back to you
Each time I taste the liquor
All it does is sour my memories
I can’t see the good you brought me
Same with the others before you
I have to stop and look at myself
Is it a pattern, am I a bad person?
What’s wrong with me and the way I love
Maybe I don’t deserve it all
My therapist said I made progress
But I don’t quite see it.
Cause if I was the perfect man
I wouldn’t repeat all these mistakes again
I find it so hard to trust my heart
In anyone’s hands, maybe I’m the problem
But I still crave physical attention
Without having to go deeper
Where do I go from here?
Should I try again
Or lock myself in my shell
Maybe something fake is what I need
I’m trying to unlearn all the things
That hurt me and lead me to hurt others
So if it means to block off love
I’d do it until I know I’m worth loving
I turned away from the mirror as I passed, too unbearable of a sight. The look in that mirror wasn't the beat of my heart, wasn't the thought in my head, wasn't the truth in my bones. The reflection could never match the character. I could never feel right in the mirror. Like I'm faking who I am, cause god forbid I hurt someone. God forbid the life pumping through my veins is too human. It's not an image of you, it's how you're perceived. Self-perception distorts the reflection, it's kinder on the soul to look the other direction. Kinder on the eyes to not be perceived at all. To stay in that room, let your flesh grow dry and your bones show through, forget that ache for connection, welcome the numbness of starvation, strum a chord to feel whole and shatter the mirror for daring to show you your truth. Show you your rotting. You're giving up, giving in to the same standards you swore you'd never care about. Losing yourself to a reflection that was never yours. If you can't smile at yourself now, why could you before you became lost?
So nice and sweet to remember
Playing with my younger brother
With mom’s constant reminder
To be a good sibling and sister-
As his older sister, she said
Learn to give way, instead
If his mood turns flaring red
Wait patiently, don’t go to bed.
Hug him and speak softly
Share and show fairness lovingly
Use magic words, act humbly
He’ll definitely follow, learns slowly.
Mom’s teachings were effective
No rivalry, rapport was highly achieved
Siblings’ closeness bloomed, heaved
But he passed away so early, I grieved.
If I disobeyed and remained stubborn
He didn’t enjoy life with me…so forlorn
No strong bonds, fun, travels and so on
No joyful memories with loved ones.
Verse 1
My time passes by as the seconds
tick away
I page through the book of life
Pages of happiness
Pages of bitterness
Pages all through my life
Chorus 1
Hold me close
Hold me tight
Hold me through the lonely night
Give me peace
Give me harmony
Allow me to rest easily
Verse 2
The story of my life can be seen through the book
Hundreds of pages to be read
Stories of achievements
Stories of failures
Stories gained through my life
Chorus2
You’ve held me close
You’ve held me tight
You’ve held me through the lonely night
You gave me peace
You gave me harmony
You allowed me to rest easily
Verse 3
We all got to die its just a matter of time
How we will go no one knows
So be proud of what you’ve done in life
Be proud of who you are
Who you are
Chorus 3
Hold me close
You’ve held me closer
Held tightly through my loneliest night
Giver of peace
Bringer of harmony
Now please allow me to rest easily
Chorus
Hold me close
Hold me tight
Hold me through the lonely night
Give me peace
Give me harmony
Allow me to rest
To rest easily
Thrilled to travel to a coastal region in India, I was only six…
with my mother and a little sister, lived in relative's palatial bungalow,
admired lace curtains with hand-embroidered pictures of deer and peacocks,
plush carpeted floors, elegant furniture with glass-top tables…
what took my breath away was the evening stroll, a few minutes walk
to the beach, frolic with sapphire waves lapping on the shore!
couldn't race back fast enough as we, giggling, chased the waves, slipped,
got fully drenched, bodies covered with sand, still rapturously amused!
sublime chimes from a temple announcing evening-prayer mesmerized senses,
taste-buds were satisfied with plain but mouth-watering treats -
luscious fruits, crunchy nuts, pieces of sweets, savoury bites,
I still hear the splashing waves, when holding the conch I collected, to my ear,
remember the ethereal colour of the vermilion sunset on the horizon,
lonely fishing boats sailing far away in the sea as if with no destination,
emerald water and amber sky touching each other in an embrace.
Each Sunday night my family watched TV.
“Bonanza” was the favorite show for me.
It came on after Disney, at around eight,
a time so great that I could hardly wait.
My mom and dad and we 8 kids would sit
in the living room enjoying it.
Before it started, Mom would always pop
a huge tub-full of popcorn, butter atop.
When commercials came, we’d each go dip our bowl
into that container; I’d not even get full
despite my many refilled bowls of it,
for once I start with popcorn, I can’t quit!
This was one custom I really lived for
since TV watching with some snacks I adore.
It was the one night that we all together sat
bewitched by Bonanza. Nothing for fun beat that.
Turtles on the beach,
From burrows called by the moon,
Drawn to the sound of the sea.
Morning comes too soon.
Shadows of curved trapezoids,
Appear on the sand ahead.
Now they're caught between,
Never born and surely dead.
I'm struck by an unknown rush,
At ten years of age.
Golden laughter leads me to,
Put my feelings to the page.
Found after recess,
With everyone standing there,
Subjected to ridicule,
Love stings those who dare.
Who claims life or love is fair?
I remember little of my childhood.
Or perhaps I remember too much, but all of it in fragments.
Marabá Paulista would wake up before God lit the sun.
First came the smell of packed lunches being prepared—mingling scents
that slipped uninvited through the cracks in the houses' weathered wood.
Then, the diesel fumes and the red dust.
Old trucks, like monsters, rumbled through the streets,
swallowing up the adults and vanishing down the dirt road.
During the day, the town belonged to the children and the elderly.
We thought that was freedom.
At dusk, the trucks returned,
spitting out bodies that were barely alive;
my parents would arrive—worn out, stooped, and weary.
As a boy, I didn't yet know
how to put a name to it.
Today I know:
the trucks didn't just carry workers.
They carried away pieces of childhood.
As I look back, I realise
My journey through time,
Has been a blur of fear,
Pain, exhaustion, and grime.
But this isn't new,
More my default catchphrase,
So I sit and delve deeper,
And see light through the haze.
I remember betrayal,
An abused child, hurt, bare -
But widen my perspective
And there was love there.
When I nearly died,
When I became disabled,
When my marriage ended,
When my needs were tabled,
I told myself the same
Sad story of woe
But now I sit and remember
There are highs to the low.
The love from my parents,
Although one has died,
Held me up when needed
Was there when I cried.
All in all life will hurt you,
But don't forget to look back,
The red haze you've been seeing
May be rose coloured, just cracked.
Years ago, when my friends and I were just boys;
A nearby place provided such simple joys.
To us, it was one of the best local ‘finds’;
“Let’s go to the creek,” never far from our minds.
We usually rode bikes, although sometimes we’d run;
To be first to arrive was part of the fun.
Visiting each favorite spot with made-up names;
Racing leaf and twig boats, playing other games.
Covering stones with mud, shouting “Bombs away!”
Vying for biggest ‘explosion’ of the day.
Pretending that large rocks were islands mid stream;
For hours we’d play in a quasi day dream.
Imagining that millimeters were miles;
Jumping from the creek’s banks to ‘fly’ to warm isles.
When dusk called us home as it did way too fast;
We knew today’s trip here would not be our last.
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