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.
A book sat on a table in a barely occupied, quiet room.
It was covered in dust,
so I decided to clean it.
The title on the cover was not very clear.
As I opened it,
I found myself intrigued by what I saw;
it sparked my eagerness to read.
I began my reading at dawn,
turning page after page.
My anxiety grew as I dug deeper into the story.
Sometimes I sighed, sometimes
I shook my head, and at other times,
I fought back tears.
It was a journey along different paths.
As night fell,
I turned on the light in the room to continue.
At dawn the following day,
I was reading the last few pages.
The journey had taken me from a pebbled road to a muddy one,
gradually shifting to a straight and smooth path.
Darkness began to give way to light,
turbulence turned to tranquillity, and
mystery transformed into clarity.
I couldn’t hold back my tears;
they streamed down my face.
But then the book ended.
Someone seemed to know me,
as if someone was writing my story but could not finish it.
I took a pen and paper to write my own ending and attach it to the pages.
Then, I woke up.
September 23, 2026.
I know the night feels endless,
like the darkness found a place to stay.
But even the longest nights
eventually give way.
You may not see it yet,
but morning is on its way.
And the heart you thought was broken
can still learn how to beat again.
So breathe through the silence,
and hold on through the pain.
You don't have to have all the answers,
you just have to stay.
Because someday you'll look back
and realize you made it through.
The light was never gone,
it was just waiting
to find you.
RAIN
The storm has come
The long grass sway
In panic throws
Their blades give way
But she has come
To rapture those
Their wrists
Their throats
Like beating drums
Her throne is there
Above the hills
Her loosened hair
Like blood, she spills
Upon the sills
Upon the stairs
Upon the roads
Her mist like Mare
Crescents carved
In clay, by hoof
Those too slow
Lay underfoot
A tangled mane
Her fingers strain
She runs and rides
Across the roofs
She calls the lakes
The river's wake
To drown the plain
To flood the wood
She has come
The long grass sway
She has come
So has the rain
The Rebel
Evening flames falter and die
Suffocated in the night’s cool embrace
A bed of sleepy orange embers
Gradually give way to blue ash
Beneath the hush of silky starlight
A solitary glow persists
Holding against the encroaching dark
Refusing surrender
In daybreak’s velvet breath
Veils of ash, like petals, drift aimlessly away
While the ember defies obliteration
With subtle inner-warmth
In the gall of yesterday’s ruin
It burns for promises never spoken
What remains, quietly transformed
Exhales and ignites something new.
9/17/2026 - For The Rebel Poetry Contest hosted by Unseeking Seeker
They say without darkness, there can be no light—
But how can the two exist so close together?
How can the most destructive, unforgiving weather
Give way, in a heartbeat, to a bird taking flight?
One moment, despair stretches endlessly,
The next, a giggle rises, warm in your chest;
And somehow you dare to believe for the best,
As highs turn to lows, then rise again like the sea.
How can a heart feel hollow, yet still overflow,
How can tears fall freely while laughter breaks through?
How can the weight of the world feel crushingly true,
Yet a sliver of sunlight still teach you to glow?
Perhaps joy isn't proof that the darkness has gone,
Perhaps both can breathe in the space of one soul;
Perhaps broken and beautiful can make someone whole,
And morning can bloom while the night lingers on.
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
________________________________________________
Life, seen sweet and scented is just a dream
Schemes planned prior, cruel Fate may rearrange.
The ground we stay on is not solid as it may seem
Everything is fickle and fleeting, subject to change.
We build concrete structures in stone and steel
Thinking their strength will never give way
But they may totter under Time’s spinning wheel
And collapse into rubble, ruin and ultimate decay.
Conform to the dictates of one’s Conscience.
Stoke the embers of light glimmering inside.
In everything seek, God’s benign guidance,
Not to drift like hollow husk over the tide.
What seems solid and stable are things of fragility
So, never get duped by the illusion of solidity.
Vexations after vexations file on
In this temporal succession here;
And even the best zeal and effort
Meet cold uncertainty and fear.
Petty foes give way to petty foes
In strenuous strivings here below;
And even the soberest of hours
Is fraught with sorrow and woe.
And no new joy that melts here
That’s not with fresh sorrows dealt;
Till the merriest hour in this sojourn
Is as close-punctuated mourning felt.
So now let every minute go
And every new hour emerge;
This soul shall no joys expect
But will silently mime its dirge.
Soul Healing
Breathe in.
This moment.
In stillness, find acceptance.
Life’s involution swirls,
yet flows toward convalescence,
in beauty,
In solace.
An eternal, calm canvas.
A silent symphony of souls.
Presence introduces you to mindfulness,
The other you, at rest.
In between days.
Moments.
Mind, body, connection as one.
Listen to the silence.
Give way to hope.
And birth in reflection.
A new hope.
Step away from the edge.
A wooden duck sits still.
Upon the lake.
While the world spins,
out of control, in a haze,
On golden violet.
Breathe deeply here.
Even the refrigerator hums a
Refreshing tone.
Listen! Listen.
As the wind holds its breath.
No breath.
We all need these moments. Now.
That the healing speaks.
Long time ago, people were clueless —
whom to give power, whom to respect,
how to decide who’s the best.
An idea arose:
the one who reached the top gets it all.
In the end, everyone laughed
at the one who had fallen,
who thought it was all just for fun,
never imagining
that a simple rank would define
the rest of his life — he had just learned.
From that day onwards,
it became a little harder to survive.
Every silent face with a smirk
reminded him of that day — without words.
The tradition carried on for centuries;
it’s now a widely known fact:
you are meant to give way to a winner,
because carpets aren’t rolled for sinners.
When will this din of boring sameness
Give way to refreshing turns ahead,
And eradicate these afflicting days
And make them charming instead?
When shall the lonely heart
Feel Nature her warmth impart,
And bring to a full soothing end
These chills that all yearning bend?
When shall this endless wait fade
And the awaited glory at last appear,
And disgrace to warm solace turn,
And realized hope abolish all fear?
Let mirthless turns and tides of fate
Bring what they will as I sit and wait.
The road stretches out to a bend in the trees,
Where the fog hangs heavy and low on the breeze.
I cannot see over the crest of the hill,
Or what lies in wait where the valley is still.
But I know the Master who mapped out the trace,
And I know the beauty that waits at the place
Where the journey concludes and the shadows give way
To the brilliant, unbroken frontier of the day.
So, I walk by faith, or I should say I run this race,
Untethered from sight and only by grace.
With each steady footprint, the horizon is clear,
For the Voice that commanded the road is right here.
Completely dependent, a child by the hand,
I trust Him to level the rough, broken land.
I need not the map, nor the view from the gate—
I just need the Father who makes the way straight.
Time without you here depresses me so.
Branches hang like ribs of an old shipwreck.
I walk through a quiet wood, calling your name.
Only a dry wind answers, rattling the dead leaves.
The path looks identical when not at the end of it.
I look at my hands and fail to recognize the skin.
The ground beneath me feels like it might give way.
I am a shadow cast by nothing at all.
If you are nowhere, then this is my only home.
I’ll remain until darkness envelops my outline.
Juniper stars give way to Juniper years.
Lions tasting the snowfall we danced like children at play.
Our hope is our father who charted every second of our Juniper lives.
Day dreaming about limitless peace from hope restored.
Open to sunshine and days before my Ana who is my morning sky.
Lazy days spent dreaming of her juniper eyes hazel as my own.
Wild hearts yearning for love and connection.
Yeshua made Ana my best friend the one whom I love to talk with.
Yeshua is also my best friend as I was raised by Theodore Tugboat who taught me we can have many
best friends not just one.
Love restored in my heart by Friendship so real it makes me smile every day.
Kami even if we never officially talk again thank you and Trust in Jesus.
Ana you are the Rose whose name is written on my heart forever.
She is the thread,
When I'm lost in my head.
When my brain is on the floor,
When I just cant push anymore,
I look to my side,
It was there as if it would always reside.
I grab the thread off the ground,
And when I do, I hear a faint sound...
Her voice in the dark,
Like an out of sight landmark.
As I follow the thread where it leads,
All my fears give way and recede.
Her voice will help me find the light.
The thread will guide me through the night.
Ill find the path straight back to her,
With this thread and that voice... of this im sure.
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