Tense weaves under the light ceiling
Wind comes to sweep the vague emptiness
Short and thin trail
Silently weaving our thread
No one notices the shine
Almost invisible in the hand
Spinning the trail of fate
Dust turns into a song
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Sun touches the ends of the paper
Tangled sky falls
Light flight without a hat
Everything beautiful soon fades
No one notices the shine
Almost invisible in the hand
Thin trail of fate
Dust turns into a song
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Weightless
Without any trace
Silk that disappears
Changes its name
Forgets to be
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Sweet Mother Marrow flies
in through the pane,
With dust made of shadows
and liquid of bane.
She gives you a gown that is
woven from spite,
And slippers of glass that
pinch extra tight.
She smiles with a grin full of
needles and pins,
And laughs in the dark when
the nightmare begins.
Her magic wand splinters
and curdles the milk,
As she wraps up your
dreams in a shroud of black
silk.
So cover your ears when she
hums her sweet chime,
For this godmother loves to
run out of your time.
Gray dove lands in tree.
She weaves her grass in her nest.
She spins her own fate.
"Winter breath flutters to an exhilarating dance on nostalgic moments, giving way to beauty."
Quote by poet
The bursting sun, a flower of gold radiance,
An idle footprint of time. A sweet, warm, healing
Friendship, spiced with the rhythm of nature's affection.
It weaves perfection upon longing hearts and souls.
Brightening the world, toying upon the window.
Spun frozen dewdrops glisten under the sunlight.
A walk in consolation, about hopeful fields,
A rebirth exhalation to marvel and sigh.
Rainbow shimmer of magic grackles and ravens
A perfect partnered dance on naked tree branches.
Leaves in downward whorl upon the latent carpet;
Cheerful, awe-inspiring as squirrels wobble through.
My good friend who is a Jehovah Witness
Says of Christmas trees, she doesn’t get this
Why do they hang all those tacky things
Junk up a perfectly fine tree of green
I feel the question is honest yet blind
For tree docorations are celebrations of kind
I notice she wears false eyelashes and weave
To me that is tackier than a Christmas tree
I suppose natural beauty isn’t the issue here
It’s doing what you know and feel is real
A natural tree with lights, decorations is ok
Her fake lashes ,wigs don’t mean she has no faith
As my Christmas tree is an expression of choice
Her lack of need for a tree is her own voice
In USA we both embrace our lavender lives
God gave us all a choice and we use it to thrive
They ask what I long for, and in my silence, the answer weaves itself,
I want to calm the restless hair framing her face like a story.
I want to capture her falling tears in the vault of my deep eyes,
To abandon her pain in a nameless alley where memories dare not reach.
I want to gather the lonely roads of her heart and bring them only to me,
To shelter her smile in the most hidden, divine corners of my soul.
To carry her smile as a secret treasure in the depths of my being,
To be her refuge and solace in the magic of starry and cold nights.
I want to protect her from the world's shadows, for my arms to be her home,
To gift her the tranquility and peace that only love can paint in life.
To soothe her soul weary from searching and bring her eternity as a gift,
For us to be, the two of us, a universe of dreams, an esoteric and rare magic truth.
I am inhabited by a cry that weaves its shadows in silence,
Night after night it takes flight from bitter corners,
It searches in endless depths, with claws of longing, for something to love,
I am terrified of this shadow that sleeps in my soul;
All day I feel it spinning gently, like a dream, within me,
It stretches its soft wings, freezing my thoughts in silence.
In a sea of lost dreams, its sigh is a faint song,
I feel how it envelops me with its mute coldness, with hidden desires,
It is a burden that weighs on my soul, an echo of an eternal night,
Wandering through the labyrinth of my being, it whispers forgotten secrets.
A shadow dwelling in my ancient heart, like an unbounded longing,
It grinds my days with a whisper that knows no rest,
And deep within me, a stir, a call to the unknown,
A song of a turbulent soul, seeking solace in eternity.
Ah, to free myself from this dark dance, from this tumult,
To find my peace among the stars and let the shadows depart,
To fill my heart with the light of dawn, with love and peace,
To feel the cry dissolve in the sweet aroma of morning.
My hatred weaves into verses like a serpent of smoke,
I am a sad poet who bathes his pen in blood and shadows,
I seek my reason in the past, in those days that seem never to die,
And memories are my muses, ghosts nesting in my soul.
My hatred grows when I uncover my scars,
Turning them into fresh wounds that refuse to heal,
A poet of pain, playing roles that trap me in snares,
I try to navigate from darkness towards a flickering light.
My hatred swallows me when my words are misunderstood,
I am seen as a captive soul, yet I seek my way out,
Fragments of poetry writing about pain and wounded love,
The pain that remains, deeply rooted like a bitter seed.
My hatred stretches over pages, a veil of trauma and fear,
I relive the moments that haunt me, weary of their burden,
But the words flow, unceasing, like a river of blood and pain,
For this is all I know, an endless source of emotions.
In the silence of the night, I tell myself that perhaps one day I'll find peace,
But until then, I remain a sad poet, prisoner of my own verses,
In a universe where pain becomes art, and art becomes liberation,
Always seeking the path to light, beyond the shadows within me.
In the depths of dreams, our story weaves like a tapestry of stars,
She looks at me, and I feel myself melting like a glacier under the scorching August sun,
Her laughter is an echo of bells in the air, filling my chest with a symphony of sweet pain,
She reveals the hidden realms of her soul to me, like an atlas of unexplored mysteries,
Her passions and fears flow toward me like a river of light, intertwined with crystal tears,
We embrace, and I feel her warmth envelop me, like the flames of a campfire defying the autumn chill,
Her lips meet mine, and the taste of her kiss remains like a memory etched on the parchment of memory,
We desire each other like two planets orbiting in a dancing trajectory of longing,
Never has there been a greater reward than the journey through our personal hell,
Hand in hand, soul to soul, laughing in the face of fate that once whispered she would no longer want me,
But she does, and I want her, all of her, as if the entire universe was created for us,
After all this, nothing has changed, our story flows like an eternal river,
Intertwining our desires and dreams in an endless dance, losing and finding ourselves in the eternity of an "us."
How I wish to be the bird that weaves dreams in the branches of time, silent,
Fluttering butterfly wings around your aura, dancing in your light,
To be the petal that feels your touch like a sunrise birthing the day,
To be the moon with which you string words under the mantle of night,
The tree where you hide your sighs, like an altar of hidden pain,
To be the wave that caresses your soul with whispers of the eternal sea,
The mirror that captures the brightness of your gaze in the eternal dance of light,
The song that fills your silence with notes that are born and die within you,
The rainbow that thrills your wonder, a bridge of colors between sky and earth,
The raindrop that slides into your thoughts like a story of the sky,
The fresh earth that awakens memories with the scent of rebirth,
The sunbeam that embraces you at the edge of a morning,
To be the soul that finds its place in your love like a sanctuary of eternity.
I stand at the edge of time, where yesterday weaves into today in an eternal dance,
I gaze upon the uncharted path that stretches like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted by my steps,
The wind whispers secretly, like an old confidant, of a future lurking beyond the horizon's line,
Where unspoken dreams take shape and color in the silence of evening that descends upon the world.
The sunset casts its golden curtain over the day, and the last glimmer of light fades like a forgotten dream,
Shadows dance upon the stage of darkness, like phantoms dissolving in the wake of a dreamer,
The stars, those beacons of the universe, light up one by one, guiding me toward the open sky,
Silent witnesses to my inner journey, they watch over me, offering courage to press on.
I yearn to soar on eagle's wings, to feel the cold air cut my breath and give me life anew,
To sail upon the waves where sea and heart sing together in a duet of eternity,
To dance freely beneath a starry curtain, where dreams become real and tangible,
To discover the magic that lies beyond the light, where the soul finds its solace and peace.
The setting sun weaves a poem,
blossoming
unsung trochaic along the river basin
(Nurulhuda Junction. Teesta)
Sometimes it feels quite an estranged thought to realise that living is a mundane day to day thing to sustain. The welfare causes are demanding all those intricate , subtle personal delicate feelings, into a powermonger possessive expositional ownership, for no good understood parameter.
The book was well versed. Muzzammil was lying on his bed, half awakened. He took his glass pairs off. A pair of opaque spectacles, with the littlemost effort, both the bifocal parts are often sweaty. He was waiting for his wife’s special morning tea, everyday. Remote area in the suburban side, every day newscaster is often quote a belated story there.
December, 2025
Some days, God weaves a tapestry,
Life's circumstances furiously knitting.
Other days, leaving things to ourselves,
She does needlepoint, while sitting.
In the brisk embrace of dawn, a robin toils—
A flutter of wings, a rustle of life reborn,
She dances on the breeze, her beak a weaver's tool,
Arranging sticks and strands, a tapestry takes form.
With each trip, a triumph—each twig a victory won,
Her chest, a blaze of orange, against the cool spring air,
Nature's architect, crafting with carefree zest,
She loops the sky, her nest a growing testament there.
The thicket murmurs secrets, as she listens and learns,
Dry grasses in tow, her silhouette dips and sways,
A ballet of purpose beneath the warming sun,
In this cradle of twigs, future melodies will play.
Determination in each movement, joy in every flight,
A promise woven into the walls of her snug retreat,
Spring heralds life, and she, its tireless scribe,
A home, at last, where tiny hearts will beat.
“Love weaves a mysterious magic spell”
Enchanted heart light pulse no rein can quell
Moonbeam frenzy rippling through souls entwined
Dark midnight hour gasp a charmed sleigh bell
Golden whispers permeate our hub aligned
Pearl-eyed lustrous jinx free oath undersigned
We bare toe dash at wishful madcap pace
As eros leaves its comet far behind
Early red dawn passion etched in sheer lace
Spring day mystic zenith, her glow tone face
Closer to nirvana, deep first blush team
Eternal heaven, haunt, or secret space.
Breath of sky rapt tender link’s heady stream
Otherworld amidst engagement ring theme
Doves that skim and coo silver froth afloat
Bright souvenirs en route unveil a gleam
Sensual laughter spurs hypnotic note
blithely fosters harmonising fond quote
Erotic fervour cast your lucky shroud
O'er honeymooner’s trance on dream boat
Line 3
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