At death of night
I gazed at the stars above,
and took a silent path;
No whisper nor chatter
But a quiet soulful oath,
To love thee in silence.
Thee, I confessed not,
So no heart shall be broken.
'Tis a lonesome path of love,
Chose I, at the death of night;
While cricket sang and stars shone above,
This shall stand till I bow my head to death.
Every poet need a haven to evoke
And here you are my metaphor .
The hard in trying to ignore
I'm ended up loving you more .
It hurts to see you with someone else
Maybe I've loved you too much I guess .
The only reason I cried in my prayers is you
And destiny left me alone without any clue .
I cried and cried and asked , why I fell in love ?
Even my soul begs to escape from this now.
The unspoken pain that lingers in the soul.
Regret stews like a pot in the kitchen,
simmering with drug-filled decisions.
The tallest towers
are stacks of unwashed dishes
in a sink of despair.
Cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling
catch flies buzzing against the wall.
The timer on the oven
blinks at me often,
yet refuses to be used at all.
The faucet drips
in unison with the tears that fall.
Magnets on the refrigerator
hold the lyrics of a forgotten song.
The aroma of fresh coffee
from an old pot
dances through a broken nose.
A table stained with memories
stands where the chairs
can no longer bear the weight.
Cracks in the flooring
run all the way through.
Blue paint drips
where the floor
no longer meets the wall.
Even as summer passes through its cycle,
I'm not sure when my heart is going to be stable.
I no longer return to our favorite coffee table,
No time to sit and read aloud my fable.
Wandering in loneliness, longing to be a couple,
Ended by a string snapped from one small quarrel.
I search within myself for something lyrical,
Questioning if love between two souls is physical—
Or something shown through the softest gestural,
When loving someone goes beyond the physical.
Words left unspoken.
Feelings kept inside.
The anger and resentment just makes me cry.
I can never confront you to talk it out.
It seemed like you never wanted me around.
My mind is so cluttered with anger and grief that I can't even remember all our good memories.
I loved you i helped and I'd do it again but you were never grateful for what I did.
There was so many times I cleaned your house because I knew it was hard for you to get around.
The COPD got you it took your life and I was the one who had to watch you decline
I was the one who had to watch you take your last breath and I will never be able to get that out of my head
It was me who was there for you the day that you died I cried so much that I feel numb inside
I only have one question that will never be answered.
Did you really love me?
Did I even matter?
There are so many things that are left unspoken
And now I am bound to be forever broken
I play the part of the one who is tough,
the shoulder for others, the steady, the calm.
But the weight of this secret is more than enough,
with no one to offer a word or a balm.
I was the only one ever to know,
a mother in hiding, then mother to none.
I watched that small flicker just wither and go
and felt like a failure before we’d begun.
Now Mother's day arrives with its ribbons and lace,
a public parade for what I couldn't keep.
I put on my mask and I steady my face,
while I sit in the wreckage, alone and too deep.
The grave of the unspoken
The evil spirit sat on its chair,
Spewing a venom that poisoned the air.
Ready to spontaneously combust at any time.
The folk walked in silence, faces turned low,
or it swallow their light and teach them to grow,
Into the hatred that hollowed their chest,
A soul that could never find beauty or rest.
It only crept out in the dead of the night,
Searching to feast on any flicker of light;
It lived to attack, to wound, and to maim,
Until it was consumed by its own bitter flame.
It died in the trap of the darkness it made,
Now a prisoner now of a self-dug glade.
It haunts the graveyard, hungry and cold,
Seeking a spirit to break and to hold.
But there is a shield for the innocent soul:
To keep your heart steady, to keep yourself whole.
You may know one the same.
Never visit its grave, never speak of its name,
Just huff, cross yourself quickly and extinguish its claim.
One way or the other
These things sort themselves out
Or do they
Seeded
Nurtured
Or left to fester and burn
Until the smoke becomes the air we breathe
Solved or unresolved
A blemish for some
A scar for the remainder
The kind that throbs
Long after the wound is gone
Silent walls
Ridiculously linger
Towering stubborn
Built from nothing
But the words withheld and the truths avoided
All of it
Every bruise
Every burn
So easily undone
By simple communication
The shadow and the silence have a heavy way of staying,
When the words we need to whisper are the ones we’re never saying.
It’s a quiet kind of heartbreak, this hiding in the grey,
Waiting for a sunrise that feels a world away.
I’m tired of the secrets and the corners of the room,
Where every honest feeling is smothered in the gloom.
I want to see the colour, the truth behind your eyes,
Without the heavy curtain of a thousand thin disguises.
True love isn't meant to be a ghost beneath the floor,
Pacing in the hallway, afraid to knock the door.
It needs the open window and the courage of the spark,
because I cannot find the way to love you in the dark.
Show me the maps etched in your skin,
the ones the world wasn’t meant to see.
I know the syntax of a wound...
the dialect of the "almost" and the "used to be."
Not the scars of a stumble or a fall
but the weight of a name, a night, a wall;
The words that settled like silt in your chest
until they became the rhythm of your rest.
The deepest hurts don't always bleed;
They manifest in the things you don't need...
In the way your laughter cuts off at the edge,
in the silence you use as a sharpened wedge.
I see the flinch before the touch,
the way you give, but never too much.
Turning your eyes to the floor or the door
before the heart can ask for more.
Show me the jagged, the worn and the deep,
The secrets your silver scarred memories keep.
You aren't a puzzle or a "difficult" soul,
just a story that had to fight to be whole.
For those who have walked through a sunless spark
are the only ones who can see in the dark.
The moment I saw her, I began to forget the world,
With her, I started dreaming of promises across lifetimes.
When I saw her for the very first time,
I began imagining a whole new world with her by my side.
She was dressed in the simplest of clothes,
No kohl, no bindi—just a smile adorning her face.
She kept talking, and I kept listening,
Yet somewhere within, I longed to meet her eyes.
I looked at her with all my heart,
As much as these eyes could possibly hold,
But how much can just two eyes ever capture?
Even that felt nowhere near enough for me.
And again, my gaze returned to her,
As if time had paused,
As if everything within me had stilled,
Wanting just a little more time with her—
That thought alone took over my world.
I wanted to live within her,
I wanted to call her mine,
And just then, she smiled—
And I was ready to forget my entire world.
Tragedy lies not in floods
Or in bankruptcies
But in whispers of lonely lovers
And unspoken intimacies
I look for beauty in sunsets,
in strangers passing by,
in the way light rests on everything it touches.
Everywhere except the mirror.
The mirror is honest.
It doesn’t blur the lines
or soften the stories
written into my skin.
It remembers the nights I don’t talk about.
The battles no one saw me win.
There are marks on me that once felt like endings.
Now they are quiet reminders that I stayed.
And still,
I stand there searching for something soft,
something lovely —
As if survival isn’t already a kind of beauty.
Maybe one day
I’ll look at my reflection
and see not the hurt,
not the history —
but the strength it took to still be here.
whispered confessions
floating through the pearly mist
amidst it you gleamed
a brilliant work of art--
a monet,
a mirage
and now i'm demented
walls lined with regrets
hung by your sully hands
yet you're pure,
i'm still insane
suffocating in
delusion, sorrow, pain
more
pain.
(loosely based on gracie abrams' i told you things)
She leaves a teacup on the coaster, still warm, though she has been gone for hours. The apartment holds its breath, rearranging the silence into heavy, dusty shapes. In the hallway, her coat hangs like a skin she decided not to wear again. I count the items: a paperback with a bent spine, a single earring on the dresser, the scent of lavender holding onto the curtains. I don’t move anything, fearing that breaking the arrangement will make the absence permanent.
dust settles gently
on the untouched coaster’s rim
clock ticks alone now
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