Years of collecting
Array of variety
Ready to clean house
Dust covered items
Sit in boxes
Awaiting new homes
Let the people dive in
Everything must go!
I found an old lantern
behind the door we stopped opening.
Dust covered the purple glass.
I brushed the years from its glass with my sleeve.
and the purple returned.
We used to raise our voices,
afraid silence meant we were losing
each other.
Now we sit quietly,
We had words,
but every word stayed somewhere inside.
The lantern whispered
through the silence between us.
Outside, the festival carried on,
while we stayed inside
beside the lantern between us.
The room felt different than before.
The lantern stayed on the table,
between us,
neither of us moved.
What we hid away
still waits behind doors
we thought were closed.
Those memories are old pages,
left where we last stopped reading.
So I hold it between us,
not because I believe
tomorrow would be any different.
But as proof
even after the hours
when our voices could not reach
across the room,
the dust had gathered,
but the lantern was not dark.
Personal Poetry Wheel Challenge
Challenge Dates: July 13, 2026 - July 19, 2026.
Theme: Relationships
Emotion: Peace
Color: Purple
Season: Festive
Form: Free Verse
Object: Lantern
Verb: Whisper
I caught a glimpse of
an old dust covered picture
where did time go?
a little shy boy-
now a handsome young man
finding himself
On the bottom shelf in an old bookstore
He found a dust-covered book that it seemed had been there for ages
A tiny book…which he dusted off
then found this message on its pages.
If you lose your fortune…you’ve lost nothing…
for it’s only material things you lack
and if you’ve had a fortune once…
you can always get it back.
If you lose the courage to stand up for what you believe in…
to practice what you’ve been taught
then unlike losing your fortune…
you have lost a lot.
If you lose your kindness your honor and integrity…
then you’ve lost even more
for without these no matter how wealthy you become…
you are truly poor.
And if you lose your soul…
for whatever reason large or small…
and fail to get it back…
then you have lost it all.
As he closed the book…these wise words
he wished everyone would read them…
For he thought how they could change the world…
If we people everywhere would heed them:
On the bottom shelf in an old bookstore
He found a dust-covered book that it seemed had been there for ages
A tiny book…which he dusted off
then found this message on its pages.
If you lose your fortune…you’ve lost nothing…
for it’s only material things you lack
and if you’ve had a fortune once…
you can always get it back.
If you lose the courage to stand up for what you believe in…
to practice what you’ve been taught
then unlike losing your fortune…
you have lost a lot.
If you lose your kindness your honor and integrity…
then you’ve lost even more
for without these no matter how wealthy you become…
you are truly poor.
And if you lose your soul…
for whatever reason large or small…
and fail to get it back…
then you have lost it all.
As he closed the book…these wise words
he wished everyone would read them…
For he thought how they could change the world…
If we people everywhere would heed them:
all my work flaws written as statements locked in dust covered cabinets
A split second
a mere centimeter
separates champions
from fame's cheated ones
Who came in second
no one remembers
dust-covered records
airless embers
pictures
smiles that once were
long faded over time
now dust covered and forgotten
snapshots
In the city of clocks where the seconds bleed blue,
Walks the man who is surely not from Timbuktu.
He carries a suitcase of unspoken rain,
And a compass that points to the center of pain.
His hat is a nebula, tilted just so,
While his shadow’s melting in lambent-lit snow.
He drinks from a cup filled with yesterday’s noise,
And trades his reflection for the clockwork of toys.
He wasn’t born by a map or a dust-covered street,
With the roots of the stars tangled under his feet.
He asks for the way to a place with no name,
While his pockets spill over with fresh frozen flame.
Don’t look for his passport in the shifting sand,
He’s a ghost with a sunflower held in his hand.
A traveler whose born from a glitch in the sky,
With a thousand years tucked in the hub of his eye.
You admired my sonnets, and slowly,
You began to feel something for me too.
With one soft,.tender, kiss, you offered
Your kind and tender heart too.
But who has broken the scarlet tulip flower pot?
And instead of blood, I see water spilled—
The flowers of love have withered,
Has sweetness met its end?
An old, forgotten book lies half-hidden,
Dust-covered on the lowest shelf.
You opened it once while sailing,
Yet you can’t recall even a moment of your life—
And still, you never throw it away. No!
TENDER VICTIMS (Children of Gaza Contest)
Dust-covered children,
With tear-streaked faces
And bloodshot eyes.
Orphaned. Abandoned.
Offered no respite--
Empty promises and lies.
Barefoot in rubble,
Tiny hands reaching,
Covered in flies.
Surrounded by debris,
Shattered homes,
With none to hear their cries.
The six o’clock news
Tells their story--
And gets one or two sighs.
They grew up together
But they never spoke
And never seen each other
Fate had her plans, though
Setting them up to meet
When they did it, it was in the library
Between the dust-covered shelves
Each wanted a particular book
Written by an author no one knows
And a title no one ever read
Two copies were dying on the shelf
Two copies, which got those two people talking
They smiled and shared a kiss before they left
They will never forget that book
Because it changed their lives
Precisely as Fate hoped it would
© Poem – III/VIII/MMXXV
LRET
Long ago, Mithila was left at this forsaken station,
As the train slipped away on the wrong track,
cutting all horizons.
There was no return
Mithila knew it, even then.
This waiting was only a silent, endless sigh.
In the dust-covered mirror of nostalgia,
Her past flickers, bright as gleaming,
Unreal in its stillness and beauty.
The present? A colourless traveller
That tells no stories, only passes by.
So much time has passed
As if a lifetime quietly devoured all she knew.
Mithila, lost in the unknown crowd, now nameless.
The rails no longer tune
The rhythm faded with the fog.
Time moved on, but never came back in harmony.
The train still whistles
But only for its own journey,
Not for Mithila.
There is no vacant seat for her now, no backwards glance.
Mithila is now just a name,
Drifting in the air of a grey and lonesome afternoon.
No one remembers her,
Only time leaves behind a fading trace.
And the future?
It is a nameless station of Waiting
Not new, just another destination of solitude.
Those church doors, once open wide,
are closed. Hinges rusted and ancient
thorn bushes, once trimmed,
now block entry.
Inside, the pews are barren.
The pulpit, a dust-covered monument
to an age gone by.
The stained-glass windows, shattered.
No hymns echo through the rafters,
no prayers or pleas for forgiveness
are whispered in the dark corners.
There is no one left to ask for salvation.
The people have all but vanished,
like ghosts on the wind.
Their faith in God lost,
their souls released from bondage.
But somewhere in this hollow church,
amidst the echoes and the dust,
the spirit of God lingers still,
waiting to be reborn within us all.
Painted daisies, baby's breath beside roses
Chrysanthemums, carnations beside roses
Red roses beside pink roses
Still, Rose is gone; Petals fresh, ... dried, and crushed.
Dawn and dusk, and melted musk
Settle upon the dust-covered roses, covering Rose
Sub Categories
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