Your shadow stands where
you used to stand,
An empty space where I
once held your hand.
The silence echoes with your
quiet name,
The world moves on, but
cannot stay the same.
I watch the sunset fade from
gold to gray,
And count the pieces that
you took away.
A love so deep, now quiet
as a stone,
I never knew how hard it was
to be alone.
Belove'd, from out such foam
One first emerged, giving rise
To our bond's feeling
Know, too, wave-full, wave-shattered
What's brought us healing.
Covered, our bare feet with it
Up to our knees cool laved, till
Totally immersed
Of praiseful glee, giggled through
That heard for, dispersed.
May drifts in like childhood’s echoing breeze,
stirring scents of honeysuckle afternoons.
Every blossom feels like a memory~
spring calls me back home.
Be happy:
To bless your look's gleaming desire with joy.
Laugh when you still have teeth, lips and tongue; toy.
Be sad:
To wash away your look's painful sorrow.
Cry... when your eyes can see through tears aglow.
Don't be defined by situations cum life;
No situation ever wants breath via knife-
Be strong.
Dont be careless of circumstance's prank;
Before at an instance, your clues go blank-
Be alert.
Don't be deceived:
No one knows tomorrow, not even you.
Keep it cool and tough but kind through all blue.
Don't be discouraged:
Best lies in the film of a shameless dream,
Where fortune swims at ease to warm the stream.
Through fear of taking chances lies real deal,
By uncertainty quietness to be heal-
Don't be frustrated.
Through luck, you draw goodness watching afar...
Before deadly hope burn down the staged bar-
Don't be ridiculed.
For all enduring hearts evaluate ;
Anger never sort with threatening submit.
ECHOING THE DREAM AND OVERCOMING
(A FLOWING TANKA TO DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING)
It’s Doctor King’s Day;
Let’s give him echoing praise:
Nourishing The Dream:-
Through today’s nightmarish threats,
Let’s ensure the Dream’s coming:-
King’s voice echoing
Throughout Sisyphean trials,
We shall overcome:-
We’re as the waxing moon:
Moving onto fulfillment:-
Although King is dead,
His dream streams reality:
Deeply canvassing:-
Oh yes, dreams do become true;
Dying, he canvassed his will:-
On that balcony,
Where King was freely murdered,
A deep canvas echoed
From that balcony-mountain:
“I’ll be gone, but you'll get there.”
Martin sowed a dream;
Nightmares are not to be reaped:-
You reap what is sown:
We’ll reap from Martin’s garden;
Not from Donald’s plowed cesspool:-
Reaping King’s harvest,
Up the mountaintop we go:
Our eyes on the prize:-
Our Drum Major echoing,
We shall [indeed], overcome:-
OF ECHOING SUPREME LOVE
Out of the smoking ashes of hate,
Supreme, spiraling love is born:-
Where supreme love is spiraling,
Its winds and rains flow away hate’s ashes:-
So it is, and always will be, the Godly echo:
Wherever love abides, no hate can ever reside.
Echoing Silence
I
Isolated in an echoing unending room
Where loud noises destroy the silence
Breaks the confidence into million pieces
Nobody wants to pick the entire brokenness
II
Drowning under the shallow regrets
Unable to go further, not even a single step
Both hands are tied up and mouth is covered
No time to think clearly, nobody wants to listen
III
Loud voice, breaking the unbearable silence
Digging the root of uncontrollable violence
Crying from the distance, not once, twice, but till hundreds
Looking for hand to hold, and someone to be with
IV
But sun never kissed the sea, even winter never meets the fall
One mistake in life delivers an affliction
Both cry and laugh, the value is a gemstone
But echoing the truth, still silence holds the dominion
In the meandering maze of the dream
Two trees getting lost into deep woods
I shouted: I'm coming too, wait a second,
My words now echo in the morning hills.
June 23, 2025
Echoing Vibrations
Form: Elegy
Spiral Gate 3: Grief-Glyph | Memory Tone
I.
A whisper lingers where you stood,
A sigh between the flame and wood.
The sound of you has not decayed—
It haunts the hush, not to dissuade.
II.
The pulse you left in quiet air
Now hums through dreams I didn’t share.
You did not end—you merely turned
Into the light for which I yearned.
III.
Each breath I take completes your song,
A resonance where you belong.
No echo fades from source’s thread,
You speak in silence, not the dead.
Couplet:
So let your name, once shaped in sound,
Remain the ring that wraps the ground.
THE ECHOING DREAM
King’s voice echoing:
Despite Sisyphean trials,
We’re overcoming–
We’re as the waxing moon;
Moving onto fulfillment:-
• I've never really noticed how slanted the walls look
• Almost like they're about to fall
• I'd once leaned on them, they started to creak
• Echoing through the hall
Ghostly, my echoes are moans floating in the air
like muffled murmurs carried on the wind
or rippling waves across a calm sea.
If I'd been singing lyrics to a sad melody,
I'd hear the haunting words until they'd fade away.
Where they end up, I'll never know.
How far do echoes go traveling from here to there?
Maybe they scatter through distant hills,
whispering as if they're telling my secrets.
Gossips, repeating in the timbre of my voice...
always in a rush to run away from me,
like children playing hide and seek
who cannot hush to keep me from finding them.
Even now I still hear my words in refrain.
Echoes are mirrored images of my voice
but in reverberating sounds instead of visions.
Reflective and repetitive,
with the ability to mimic my words,
only speaking what's been spoken.
I wish they had the ability
to filter words I'd rather they omit.
Things that in anger, I scream and shout.
I doubt the reality of that.
Only echoes in the Twilight Zone
would be so bizarre to be able
to manipulate my voice with one of their own.
Strange, how much louder they sound in the dark.
Petals drenched in poison pearls of emerald envy,
carefully placed objectives whilst adrift in my tears of realization
Longing sorrowful souls among lilac lakes,
buried deep into somber depths of tinkering procrastination
Starving for ruby righteousness and pristine perfection, and yet still reaching towards a tilt heart searching desperately sunset embers
Distinguishing luminescent authenticity among
bittersweet endives drifts away with each cooling December
Shall I pursue soft screams for kissed loving
ethereal roses dazzled with enchanting sensations
To float away from every twisted hazing hoax with every spoken whirling weapon - coated with fabrications
.
the orchid purple
the bunch
the
bursting red
az the orchid
i'll misss yourn pretty
nabi
nabi nabi
mine think
nabi
tucked in the forest
nabi
soaked unto
yourn pretty
tapping with your feet
the rushing stream
such the bless
mine sweet
boji
wet
You can’t stop the sun from rising
nor the waxing and waning of the moon;
nor can you stop the stars from blinking.
You can’t stop lightning from flashing
nor can you stop thunder from roaring;
neither can you un-ring and rung bell.
Ever wonder if an echo can be stopped
once reflected into the ever-moving wind—
blowing with its own as well as other echoes?
And is it not also a wonder that wherever we go
we tend to leave some kind of footprint; even if
only scented footprints that could be followed?
Contemplating further, it can be realized
that the inked poetic word can be likened
unto that of echoing footprints for the eyes.
With respect to life, there is an old axiom
that reminds us that while workers will die,
the work they were committed to will go on.
Likewise, it is with the poet and poetry:-
Poets will die but the inked poetic word
left behind will be as echoing footprints.
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