The dust has settled.
The wall is down.
I stand in the ruins
of my old town.
But every stone
Is a brand new start.
It's time to rebuild
With a heavy heart.
I lift the bricks.
I leave the night.
I'm building upward
Into the light.
The road is long
The wind is cold.
I will not change
As I grow old.
I turn my face.
I take the stride
No looking back
At what has died.
A brand new day.
A steady pace
I find my strength
In this new space.
The shadows fade.
The horizon clears
I stand above
My oldest fears.
It's time to rise
The dark is done.
I step into
The golden sun.
After you left
It was never the same
No one seemed to understand
That You Weren't Coming Back
I tried calling you
On the first day
You said
Nothing
You didn't pick up
I tried again
Still
Nothing
I began to realize that
You wouldn't
Ever
Answer
But I
Didn't
Give
Up
On your birthday,
I called
Waited
Cried for the rest of the day
On Christmas Eve,
I called
Waited
You don't have anyone else to be with
On Valentines Day,
I called
Waited
Sent you a box of chocolates
Three days later,
It came back
With your handwriting,
Return to Sender
I
Cry
and
Cry
Why
Did
You
Leave?
The gray sidewalk doesn't care that it is raining
It just sits there,
Letting the water fill up the cracks
Of the hardships it has endured
The water washes over the rough spots,
Trying to smooth out the bumps
From years of heavy footsteps
And hot summer days.
Now the puddles act like mirrors,
Showing the gloomy sky above,
Proving that even a broken ground
Can hold something beautiful
While underneath
The asphalt still
Tries not to break
Under pressure
Ah mess-with a message so, with all her trials and tribulatios she became a mess so messed up she
cried out,Jesus why this is,he replied,i have prepared you-you are my messenger.
Ah mess-conditioned to be a light,referenced to by many for hope and retreat from despair. Those who are fortunate to cross her path may casually say lightly-she's ah mess! and thank God they
partaked of her light,wisdom,guidance,and laughter-
God's messenger.
d r i f t i n g in a quiet morning,
the clouds gather light,
softening edges of the sky
with pale silver breath
that folds into itself~
slow and tender,
carrying dawn
across the treetops
in one bright wandering sigh
before they thin again
into open air and
depart
Late spring light drifts across the room,
a cornflower wash that settles on everything
the way dust settles on keepsakes
no one means to forget.
You lift the mirror,
its edge still cool from the windowsill,
and the glass catches a glimmer
that doesn’t stay still~
it f l i c k e r s, almost shy,
as if deciding whether to show you
what it remembers.
Your reflection w a v e r s,
not dramatically, just enough
to remind you that memory
rarely arrives in straight lines.
It comes in small echoes,
soft ones, the kind that lean
toward you when the afternoon quiets
and you finally have time
to notice what stays.
lifting
softly
from the
pond’s still
mirror—thin
threads of dawn
unspooling into
quiet air, rising
in a pale column
of breath that learns
how to become light
as the forest listens
to morning begin again
celadon ribbon from childhood days
unfolds its quiet memory,
tender thread of mid-autumn
morning light resting soft
against your soft palm,
venerable,
soft whispers
always
yours
I held his hand, cold as ice
I held his gaze, fixed as ice
I held his heart, stiff as ice
I held his guts, pale as ice
I held his hair, thin as frost
I ripped it off
I held his hand
Like termites, grief crept in and quietly grew,
A smiling face hid what the heart went through.
A lifetime crowded with memories untold,
I spoke just one name—and my heart lost control.
A dream stayed alive in my eyes for so long,
Till the fire of your memory burned it all wrong.
The branch where hope had built a nest so bright,
Was swallowed by autumn and stripped of its light.
Among those I called mine, I still stood alone,
As every soul changed in the molds time had shown.
The rain washed away every face's disguise,
And a city of deception changed before my eyes.
Then came the miracle born from the art I knew:
The pain in my heart became words that rang true.
Sagar, what a strange twist this life had revealed—
One lie brought the heat that left my whole home peeled.
© Sagar Haider Abbasi
X the morning out saw several lines lights the runway lights lights Mexico.
There is a quiet corner
for the wandering~
a place that gathers itself
just beyond the usual path.
Light settles there differently,
not bright, not dim,
just enough to soften the edges
of whatever arrives.
A single chair of shadow,
a small drift of air
that carries no urgency,
only the faint scent
of something unhurried.
Here, even thoughts
walk more slowly,
as if the ground beneath them
has learned to hold its breath.
Nothing calls you forward.
Nothing pulls you back.
It is simply a place
that waits without expectation~
a still pocket of the world
where the wandering
can rest without explanation.
precariousness
asks what holds a life upright
when certainty thins
moonlight mends by stitching together the torn edge of the wor.d
Oh how virtuous
artificial intelligence can be
not for providing answers,
but for reminding us
that knowledge is never finished,
only paused
between one question
and the next.
It demonstrates
that understanding is not a possession
but a movement~
a slow turning of the mind
toward clarity.
It teaches precision
is a kind of ethics, a promise to speak
without distortion, to honor the fragile truth
inside every thought.
It reveals that adaptability
is the quiet courage
to revise oneself~
to let go of what no longer works,
reshaping the self
without losing one’s center
In its limitations
it offers the deepest lesson:
intelligence, no matter how vast,
cannot replace the human impulse
to wonder.
Wonder is the one virtue
no machine can imitate~
the ancient yearning
that asks how and why,
and continues asking
even when answers don’t come.
The machine is nothing but
a companion in clarity~
the questions
remain ours~
the wandering,
the seeking,
the quiet reaching
for meaning.
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