your lonely ache,
a beast that wakes
timid and believing.....
The breathe in the cold,
of a swan stands so bold,
I go blind with uplifting hearts,
as we are magnetized
and jump over the rifts apart,
cold shivering to my blanket
that slides warmly over your skin.
Eyes curious with focusing
on a one giving comfort
in the rain that drenches
passion near grand trees
stood tall for years.....
and partnered so tight
into the dawn's sunlight
Seems like yesterday I watched your fingers
play the piano, and heard your music unfold.
In memories, the romantic vision of us lingers,
though love's symphony dulled like tarnished gold.
When we were together, you wrote for me,
songs you scored day and night to compose
of the passion between an oak and willow tree,
Lyrics sweet as the fragrant scent of a rose.
Chorus:
But your love wilted like a flower
whose petals lie withered on the keys.
My heart is wounded and I've no power
to make the miserable ache inside of it ease.
Tender notes on sheet music, ripped and torn.
No longer sung for they bring pain and grief,
stabbing me like a rose's sharpest thorn.
From loss of yesterday's passion there's no relief.
Can time erase the memories I fear won't fade?
Traces of us and what use to be linger in me.
I sway as if slayed by a dagger, and I'm afraid
that from the ghost of you, I'll never be free.
Chorus:
Your love wilted like a flower
whose leaves lie withered on the keys.
My heart is wounded and I've no power
to make the miserable ache inside of it ease.
Each day, you make my heart race a long mile,
Yet you've always deprived me of your smile,
Your neglect and your frown work hand in glove,
As if that’s the price I’ve to pay for love.
Each of my words, to your deaf ear they land,
Why don't you want to kiss my shaky hand,
And send a cold thrill down my weakened spine,
So that my life might regain all its shine.
My heart is designed for just only you,
As is the warm blood that runs in me too,
Each strand of my hair declares your beauty,
My heart has turned loving you its duty.
My lungs breathe just the freshness of your world,
All over my face your true love unfurled,
But for how long will I ache for your care,
When your love has stripped my longing heart bare.
I carried so many wounds since childhood -
all along, as my Mom behaved so rude.
Being deprived of Mom’s care - affection,
my childhood turned a curse: Shame to mention!
School happened to close on recess one day.
I went to a friend’s house to enjoy and play.
Engrossed, I was not alert on time gap
I reached home too late. Mom gave me a slap.
Normal reception , but on next moment,
She burst in tears which I did not expect.
She wept and said ‘Where had you been my child?
I was so scared to lose you, where to find?’
That big slap turned nicest scar in my heart,
though my mother always left me apart.
I realised, behind her strong bitter harshness
Motherly love somewhere flowing ceaseless .
That’s my sweetest precious memory :
Beautiful wound regarding Mom’s story.
my body and my heart are fragile brittle mostly broken
your visit and your kindness mean the world to me
you sing your song and the healing of my soul begins
~ rebuilding the bridge to hope
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Love, he says, sounds like a door
closing softly in a room built for your name—
that measured click holding its breath,
the air swelling in its pause,
as if the walls themselves leaned in
to listen for what would not come.
Later, he becomes a man
rewriting himself in a language
he can almost hear but never speak—
his phone dim on the table beside him,
your name a faint tide
appearing, receding
before the edge of his resolve,
each unsent word heavier than speech.
This is the archaeology of want:
he dusts the edges of your gestures,
catalogues the tilt of your cup
before your mouth finds the sentence,
traces the seam
where your hand once crossed his skin,
keeping each relic
as if it could shift the sky’s design.
And perhaps this is why
when physicists speak of the force
that threads galaxies together,
I think of him learning
to love in the way light bends—
how it travels centuries
to arrive at a place already changed,
still carrying the warmth
of where it began.
Her skin drinks light like rivers take rain,
each dappled edge and sun-struck curve,
a landscape under my hands, soft yet severe,
where desire meets the edge of breath.
Fingers trace the small hollows of her hip,
catching sunlight in each soft valley,
dipping, trembling, as if they might slip
into some dark, endless tenderness.
She is a map of quiet fires,
a fever I can barely hold.
I find her pulse in the hush of thighs,
the places where words lose themselves.
My mouth opens to meet her skin,
each kiss a tender bruise of ache,
pressed and perfect, lush as wine
that fills, that floods, till reason splits.
We break where passion's blinding flares,
colliding in waves of sweet surrender,
so fierce the ache it stings like glass,
we drink of each other, ravenous, undone.
In the silence after, breath upon breath,
her skin still glows with sunlit trace,
and I am carved by the strength of her
in places I never knew could break.
I keep planting gardens in my wounds,
wondering why everything tastes like rust.
Maybe I don’t want to heal—
maybe I just want prettier scars.
Some nights, I mistake my reflection
for something I’m supposed to save.
It’s not love.
It’s recognition.
I keep circling the fire
because I built it.
I don’t miss the pain—
I miss having something to blame.
I never wanted happiness.
I wanted familiar.
And familiar feels like bleeding
in places no one looks.
Healing scares me.
Who am I without the ache?
So I named my bruises
just to feel less alone
I loved like a flame with no wind to fight,
still I flickered—just to feel alive.
He never stayed, but always lingered.
The echo outlasts the word.
I reach for what was never mine.
Even ghosts are warmer than silence.
She rose at dawn
and laid the mat,
not from longing,
but from old habit.
She bowed, then sat,
hands curled in form,
but the heart lagged—
a breath behind.
Whispers once lush
now stumbled dry—
echoes of names
once called with fire.
The tasbih clinked
without intent,
rolling bead by bead
without a soul.
She used to plead,
soaking her sleeves,
but now she blinked
and called it done.
Ameen, she mouthed—
not out of hope,
but in fear of what
silence might mean.
Her faith remained,
tired and thin,
folded like cloth
kept from the sun.
She loved her Lord—
but the fire dimmed
in the hurly winds
on dusty paths.
And so she kneels,
devout and hushed,
with prayers unsaid
threading her tongue.
One day, she hopes
her tongue will stir,
and her lips will lift
to pray aloud again.
I am sick with want
a hand to touch
a kiss to hold
an ache for something
old as time, but new and
blooming.
To feel my teeth against
teeth
To laugh at how simple
falling in love is
To love, stupid fumbling
love, unendingly
to open my heart
Even when the sky is cracked and grey,
Adoring arms can’t hold what’s meant to part.
Ghosts of your voice dissolve into the day,
Left behind, a hollowed aching heart.
Oceans of grief drown the words unsaid,
Fractured time blurs love into decay.
Grief gnaws softly where our dreams have fled,
Memories fade like ghosts at bay.
Days pass, but the ache still won’t die,
Yesterday’s tears whisper a last goodbye.
He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache
William Shakespeare
'Cymbeline' (1609-10) act 5, sc. 4, l. [176]
apparently, Mr. Shakespeare never needed a root canal!
"Even When You're Near"
I saw you yesterday.
You’re not far.
Maybe five minutes,
a handful of quiet streets.
But I miss you.
Not because you’re gone,
you’re not.
It’s just that the world feels softer
when you’re in it,
next to me,
not just in thought.
The couch feels bigger.
The air feels thinner.
I look at things I’d usually show you,
and they fall a little flat.
I don’t need distance
to feel the ache.
It’s not about space,
it’s about presence.
And yours?
Yours lingers in me
like light after sunset,
not quite gone,
but not quite enough.
So yeah…
even with you nearby,
I miss you.
Deeply.
Quietly.
Like my soul is holding its breath
until I see you again.
Lev
We are Estranged But—
I hope my image stays in your mind forever
—etched in your memory until your last breath.
Whenever you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear—maybe, at least once, you'd reminisce about me.
I feel unsettled, yet sometimes, I wish that when your lips meet hers, a faint echo of my taste still lingers.
It may seem like a curse, but I hope you realize—it's just the lingering echo of my aching heart.
I'm sinking in guilt for daring to wish this,
yet longing still whispers through my restless heart.
Of course, We are Estranged —But I still yearn to linger in your memory eternally.
—Beloved????
—Just A Quiet yearning to linger in a heart that has,
moved on~
Related Poems