Category: #Poetry
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The Quiet Awakening of Color #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
They always told me, paint what you feel. But no one warned me that feelings grow lungs when you pour too much of your soul into pigment. For years, I have stood before white silence — the spotless canvas breathing softly, like a secret waiting for confession. #FreeVersePoetry #SurrealistPoetry #ArtAndSoul #PaintersJourney #CreativeWriting #ExistentialPoetry #ArtisticExpression #PoetryLovers…
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Look Out of the Window: The World Looks Back at You #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
When I look out of the window, the world rearranges itself as though waiting for its portrait. A sparrow trembles on a clothesline, a woman sweeps her courtyard, and the sky keeps rewriting its language of clouds. What fascinates me is not the world’s movement, but its quiet agreement to exist—alive, fleeting, and endlessly aware…
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When Tomorrow Learns My Name: What Will My Life Be Like in Three Years?
In this reflective motion, the voice journeys three years into the future—imagining a life tempered by patience, peace, and quiet transformation. The poem drifts between time and tenderness, tracing how self-acceptance, creative purpose, and stillness gradually replace urgency and fear. It’s a meditation on becoming, on learning that the future is not a place we…
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The Quiet Companion #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
In the worn leather-bound pages of my journal, I find silence transformed into words—raw, unfiltered, and deeply mine. Between ink and paper, a silent companion holds my fears, dreams, and whispered truths, offering a refuge where my soul can breathe. This is our story—a quiet dialogue of trust, vulnerability, and the unspoken strength found in…
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Failure’s Hidden Door: A Dialogue Across Time #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
I stand here in the afterglow, the soft light spilling over rubble I once called ruin, an echo of a time when failure carved its name into my days— a time when the ground beneath me gave way and left me breathless, raw, unsure. This poem explores the transformative power of failure as a hidden…
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A City Where Memories Can Be Bought and Sold #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
In a city where memories can be bought, traded, and erased, a poet loses his past — and becomes the accused in a crime of stolen identity. This free-verse piece explores the fragility of memory, the commodification of emotion, and the desperate human need to remember what makes us real. #FreeVerse #DystopianPoetry #MemoryAndIdentity #UrbanSoul #PoeticFiction…
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The Last Tree On Earth Tells its story: The Last Tree and Earth’s Whisper #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
I am the last tree on Earth— a fragile beacon standing amid the silent vastness, bearing stories etched in bark and breath, whispering hope into the barren wind. And I am Earth—ancient mother, wounded witness, carrying the weight of all life’s memories, calling to hearts willing to listen, promising renewal from the ashes of loss.…
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In the Shadow of Stillness: Highlights from My Autobiography I Would Like to Mention #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
Even scars become lanterns when you choose their quiet light, and acceptance is no thunderous arrival— but the soft dust settling after a storm.Sometimes survival is small: a meal alone without apology, an evening listening to rain spindle against glass— where darkness is not punishment, but presence, an invitation to know the self beneath all…
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Echoes of My 90s Band: My Favourite Band of the 90s #BlogchatterHalfMarathon @Blogchatter
In the quiet hum of rewound cassettes and static-laced radios, I found my refuge—a band whose chords became the heartbeat of my youth. Their songs were not just melodies; they were mirrors reflecting who I was becoming. Even now, their echo lingers, soft but persistent, reminding me that time fades—but music remembers. #90sVibes #MusicMemories #FreeVersePoetry…
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The Weight of Letting Go
Sometimes, letting go hurts— but that ache is the echo of love’s truth. It means my heart dared to care, to bloom even in impossible soil. Not all things are meant to stay— some arrive only to awaken me, to remind me that even endings are just beginnings disguised as pain. And when I finally…
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