A child's cry splits the midnight air,
shattered glass, the scent of despair.
The streets once humming with songs and trade
now echo with the ghosts war has made.

The sky is bruised, blackened with flame,
a mother wails, calls out a name.
But silence swallows, dust and stone,
a city turned to blood and bone.

Where laughter danced in alleyways,
now sorrow clings to broken days.
Olive trees, once kissed by light,
stand charred and twisted in the night.

A father kneels by what remains,
hands trembling, whispering names.
His house is gone, his hands hold air,
his heart beats on, though nothing's there.

The sea still sways, the tide still turns,
though every home in darkness burns.
The stars look down, they do not weep,
while children lie in dreamless sleep.

A schoolyard once alive with play
now pools with tears at break of day.
The market stalls, the sacred ground,
all crumbled now, no voices sound.

Yet even here, amid the ash,
hope still flickers, whispers past.
A mother lifts her weary hand,
plants a seed in stolen land.

For one day, when the guns are gone,
when war's dark shadow meets the dawn.
This earth will bloom, this land will rise,
and peace will shine in children's eyes.

We gather in crowds and whisper of silence,
yearning for touch, yet wincing at hands.
The streets are swollen with voices we summon,
and still, we retreat to the rooms of our minds.

Oh, the terrible weight of desire and distance!
To love so fiercely, yet long to be free,
to build up our houses, then dream of the desert,
to drown in a sea of all we let be.

I have walked between wanting and not,
two corridors lit with a flickering doubt,
one draped in the velvet of intimate longing,
the other a door I am always without.

What a riddle it is, to be so divided,
to hold out a hand and wish it unseen,
to ache for the warmth of an offered embrace,
and shrink from the shadow it leaves in between.

Perhaps we are all just echoes of echoes,
laughing in rooms where no one can hear,
writing our names on the walls of each other,
then leaving, before they can ever appear.

It's the fire no ocean could quell,
a heat beneath skin, searing
through every pulse, an electric hum
of being alive in the presence of another.

Love is an uncharted storm
raging quietly in the veins;
no hands can grasp it,
no mind contain it,
it slips, shifts, floods every silence
with the whisper of its impossible need.

And yet, it's delicate, too;
the breath that catches
between words,
the glance that folds
time upon itself.
It's in the empty space
between bodies
where all things combust
and surrender.

It breaks you open,
but it's the breaking
that keeps you whole.
It's the longing that lives
inside you forever,
a flame that neither ends
nor begins;
just burns. And burns.
Because love is always too much,
but never enough.

There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen.
It whispers in the rustle of leaves,
In the pause between a heartbeat,
In the quiet hum of dawn before the world awakens.

It's a song that stirs the soul,
Soft as the breath of a sleeping child,
Yet vast as the ocean's endless call.

This voice is ancient, older than time,
Born from the stars and the dust of the earth.
It carries the wisdom of ages untold,
A knowing beyond the clamour of thought.

A truth that lives beneath the surface,
Of all that we see, and all we pretend to know.
It speaks in the dance of the wind,
In the stillness of twilight.

When the day sighs into night,
And shadows stretch long across the land.
It is in the eyes of the old and the innocent,
In the spaces between the lines of a love letter,
Or the quiet ache of a heart mending slowly.

This voice cannot be grasped,
It cannot be chased or claimed.
It comes when the mind is silent,
When the heart surrenders its restlessness.

It rises in the moments when you are,
No longer seeking, but simply being.
When the soul listens with more than ears,
For there are languages older than words.

Songs written in the pulse of life itself,
And if you listen, truly listen;
You will hear it: the voice of the universe,
Calling you home.
To a place where words fall away,
And all that remains is knowing.

You are meant to stride through sunlit streets,
glimmering with the confidence of gods,
and then, in the moon's pull,
be hollowed out by questions older than the stars.

You are meant to live years that pour like water,
slipping unnoticed through your fingers,
while a single afternoon clutches you tight,
unwilling to release its grip.

There are supposed to be voices that cut through your certainty,
teeth in their syllables,
while others hold you like a whisper,
soft enough to heal the fractures.

You are meant to fail, to fall, to splinter.
Not broken,
but scattered like seeds,
aching to bloom in the chaos of the dirt.

The horizon is not always a promise,
sometimes it's a reminder
that wandering is necessary,
and that the map was never yours to hold.

You were never meant to have all the answers.
You are allowed to be incomplete,
to be a question mark in a world obsessed with exclamation points.

Nothing is wrong with you.
You are just becoming more - 'YOU'.

Play, like breath igniting life,
wild animal in the ribcage,
a flame caught in the pull of night's dark thread
it whispers the ancient hum,
not the hush of apology but the loud echo of galaxies.

Skin, soft as dust against stars,
glows in the ecstatic tension,
stretching out in the reckless curves of time.

We fall into it, unlearn gravity,
become architects of chaos, of sweat and laughter,
our bodies - maps with no borders.

Play, because touch is language,
a conversation of pulse and instinct,
where rules shatter beneath a storm of hands
and the air forgets the burden of propriety.

It is a dance of forgetting ourselves
and becoming animals, children, gods,
twisting in a place where no wrong exists,
just the physics of limbs, the art of madness,
and the permission to be undone.

*** is Play.

A game where the end doesn't matter,
only the fire of the moment,
the breaking of worlds in a glance,
a kiss that isn't an apology.

Here, we are infinite in the ache,
and we laugh, in the way only lovers do,
as we fall again,
naked in the chaos of everything.

I am the wild arc of the earth's pulse,
untamed breath in the chest of everything,
ancient as stones, fierce as waves in rebellion.
I do not shrink or twist myself thin
for the comfort of lesser horizons,
I am boundless, unruly, rising.

Do not ask the ocean why it carves into cliffs,
or question the mountains as they lean into the sky.
They have earned their expanse,
with rocks and waters kissed by creation,
sighing in silent defiance.
I too am carved from something vast and voracious,
not meant to bow, not made to dissolve.

I shall not bargain for a lesser version of me,
a quieter current, a shadowed peak.
I am that blue abyss, fathoms deep,
where light and darkness make their truce.
I am that towering stone,
etched by storms that refused to relent.

My roots dig deep into the marrow of the earth,
my voice rises like thunder breaking in the hollowed sky.
To be boundless is my right,
to take up my space is my heritage,
to walk unburdened, unapologetic,
a force unmoved by soft-spoken disapproval.

So I declare, with spine straight as mountaintops,
with heart rolling in tides beyond tides:
I am here, irreducible and vast,
and I will not ask permission to exist,
to expand, to stretch, to surge.

I hope you have the courage to begin anew,
To gather the fragments of heartache and hue,
And spin them into gold beneath your hands,
To create beauty from what life demands.

May you release the chains of what once was,
And find the present worthy just because.
With lessons etched deep into your soul,
May you surrender and trust in becoming whole.

I hope you dare to trust again, to feel,
To open wide, to let the wounds heal.
Overflowing with love, pure and bright,
May you find strength in every fight.

Let the past not hold your dreams in chains,
Nor the echo of doubt leave stubborn stains.
But choose to rise, to grow, to be,
Embracing all that life could see.

I hope you have the courage to take the leap,
To chase desires buried deep.
To believe in yourself, without delay,
And live in the fullness of today.

For endings are just chapters turned,
Where new beginnings are patiently earned.
Each door that closes leaves behind,
A key to strength, to a resilient mind.

Prioritise yourself in this world of haste,
Don't wait for saviors, don't let life waste.
For the hero you seek is within your core,
I hope you have the courage to ask for more.

And in trying, in falling, in rising once more,
May you find the courage to always explore.
For each step forward, each risk you take,
Is how the most beautiful beginnings awake.

If you don't feel the joy when they rise
When your friend's success shines bright in the skies,
Then what bond do you hold, what claim do you share,
If your heart is unmoved by the heights they dare?

For friendship is woven from threads pure and deep,
It sings with their laughter, it cries when they weep.
It's not just a name, not a casual thread,
But a tapestry woven with words left unsaid.

When their light starts to shine, like the dawn on the sea,
Your heart should ignite, just as wild, just as free.
For true friends are mirrors of joy and of grace,
Reflecting each triumph, each challenge they face.

It's not about envy, nor wishing for more,
But standing beside them as their spirit soars.
In their joy, you find yours, in their glow, you are bright,
For their victories lift you like stars in the night.

If you don't feel the thrill when they take to the air,
If you can't feel their joy, like the wind in your hair,
Then what is the meaning of the bond you defend,
If you don't get excited, then you're not a friend.

For friendship is sacred, a fire that is shared,
It's the light in their eyes when you show that you care.
So, lift them, adore them, let your spirit entwine,
In their success, find joy that's as fierce as it's fine.

Be their pillar, their cheer, with love on display,
For a friend, true in heart, will forever stay.

The mirror splits,
shattering the myth of who you think you are,
shards of self-reflection scattered across the floor.
Each sliver, a truth, biting and blood-stained,
but you stand there, fists unclenched,
eyes wide open.

Growth comes crawling on jagged knees,
this is not a clean ascent,
no golden stairs to carry you up.
It's a wrestle with ghosts,
the ones you've buried with heavy hands,
with silence, with denial.

You cannot flee this reckoning,
the walls close in like truth's rib cage,
breathing you in.
But to run is to shrink,
to fold yourself back into the cocoon of lies
that feels like safety,
but is nothing more than a beautiful cage.

What you accept,
what you let press its weight against your bones,
it cracks you open,
stretching your spine towards a brutal freedom.

The light gets sharper the deeper you go,
splitting skin, unraveling narratives.
You grow only as far as you dare to fall,
not down, but inward.

Honestly, have you ever been honest with yourself?
Does your breath fill your lungs, or is it stolen,
held ransom by the lie that bears your name?

There's a certain thrill in self-deception,
the shimmer of a mask molded to your skin,
layer by layer, scraped on thick like survival,
fitting snug to every societal bone.

But beneath that weight, what are you left with?
Bare ribs like prison bars,
a heartbeat that paces but cannot leave.
Here's the truth, raw and gaping,
the world would gladly paint you
in colours that wash away in rain.

And yet.
You are a tide that swells,
the surge against a thousand invisible walls.
Your voice is a pulse, electric with truth,
a spark meant to ignite, not wither or fade.

Can you hear that?
The whisper you buried beneath obedience,
the quiet call wrapped in compromise?

Let it be heard now, like a lion loosed.
To be honest with yourself is to set fire
to every inch that doesn't feel like home,
to burn away the foreign fabric of expectations
until the ashes reveal
the shape you were born to wear.

Reclaim the you that is yours alone,
and dare to stand in that skin,
a stranger, perhaps, but honest,
always honest.

In twilight's gentle, hushed embrace, I muse,
Upon a truth, profound, yet oft confused,
"When you change the way you look at things,"
A whisper in the breeze, a truth that sings.

In quiet moments, by the fire's warm glow,
I ponder on this wisdom, let it grow,
For as I turn my gaze to yonder skies,
The very stars seem different in my eyes.

Once, they were distant, cold, and far apart,
But now, they're dreams, each one a work of art,
In shifting thoughts, a new perspective is born,
The heavens, once remote, now feel adorned.

When change befalls the lens through which we see,
The world transforms, a wondrous tapestry,
No longer mere, mundane, or commonplace,
But filled with grace, a dance of time and space.

The meadows bloom with colours yet unseen,
Each blade of grass, a world, a living dream,
The river's flow, a symphony of grace,
In every ripple, secrets interlace.

"When you change the way you look at things,"
A truth profound, in whispered wisdom, sings,
For in the alchemy of mind and sight,
The ordinary turns to pure delight.

So, let us not be prisoners of the past,
But with new eyes, this world anew we'll cast,
And as we do, the universe may range,
To show us beauty, in the subtle change.

A smile sharper than glass,
glimmering with shards of light that cuts,
the kind that beckons you close, only to let you bleed
in the name of love.

Words like mirrors,
reflecting back nothing but distortion,
twisting your truth into knots,
until you question if you ever knew how to untangle
your own soul from their gaze.

They drink your kindness
like a thief,
quenching their thirst with the salt of your wounds,
leaving you hollow,
a vessel emptied of worth.

Their praise is a dagger dressed as a gift,
the hand that caresses your cheek
is the same that lets go,
watching you fall with a silent, satisfied smirk,
like a puppet whose strings were always theirs to hold.

Yet it's never their fault, is it?
A perfect storm of self-made delusion,
swirling in a vortex of "me, me, me."
You're collateral,
a casualty in the war they wage against anything
that threatens to expose the hollow beneath their skin.

Narcissistic behaviour,
a dance of shadow and flame,
leaves only the ashes of trust
for you to sweep away.

A pulse beneath skin-raw,
a symphony of friction,
silent notes igniting,
unwritten, but felt.
Fingers trace electric rivers,
veins pulsing to the rhythm of need.

Sweat slicks the edges of memory,
lips unlearn what's been spoken,
our bodies becomes language,
where words are too clumsy to reach.

In the space between breath and release,
something breaks, something blooms,
old wounds, wounds no one touched,
heal in the friction.
Not the kind of healing you can bottle
or bless with holy water
this, the alchemy of skin and surrender,
the way hips speak in tongues
when the body writes its own scripture.

Here, love is less tender,
more molten,
shattering the cold stars
that once burned inside your bones.
This is a healing that doesn't ask permission
it claims, it devours, it demands
the undoing of all shame.

Feel it.
The rhythm is louder than your heartbeat now.

Each day is a canvas, a story untold,
Where moments of wonder in silence unfold.
One day, a café where whispers are heard,
Sipping on dreams, not saying a word.

The next, a long walk beneath skies of blue,
Breathing in life as the earth welcomes you.
Friends fill the air with their laughter and grace,
While novels call softly to a quietened space.

One day, you conquer, with focus and might,
The next, break the rules, let indulgence take flight.
Junk food and laughter, with no guilt to hide,
For life is a journey, enjoy every ride.

A day with your family, where love is the feast,
Sharing your stories, where joy is increased.
Then retreat to your boards, where dreams take their form,
Imaginary worlds where creativity’s warm.

For as long as the sun in the heavens shall rise,
Let each morning greet you with endless surprise.
Put on your best, feel the world in your sway,
And make every moment your favourite day.

I hope you find people in this life who make you feel like you are meant to be here...

Like roots tangled beneath concrete cities,
like hands that hold without words,
there are moments when the world splits open,
and you glimpse the sanctuary hidden in the chaos.

It's in the tilt of a smile,
in the pulse of laughter
that echoes in your bones
and says, "You were always meant to stay."

These are the people who carry your name
like a mantra on their tongues,
their presence a quiet rebellion
against the loneliness that creeps like fog.

They are the ones who make the sky more breathable,
who stitch together your ragged edges with nothing more
than a glance, a word, a touch of unspoken truth.

You belong here,
not because you bent yourself to fit their corners,
but because you filled the space only you could fill,
a constellation all your own,
and they saw it in you
long before you saw it in yourself.

I also hope you find this in yourself too...

There will be days when you look in the mirror
and all you see are fractures
shards of who you thought you should be,
the jagged pieces of an endless "almost."

But let me tell you:
even in the wreckage, you are whole.
Even in the broken light,
you are the brightest thing
the universe has ever known.

You don't need their validation to bloom,
but oh, how beautiful it is
when you find those who water your roots,
who whisper, "Stay,"
who remind you that the soil was always enough.

You are enough.
You belong,
exactly as you are.

The truth, a mirror so clear and deep,
Where shadows hide, where secrets sleep.
It calls to us, like winds through trees,
Whispering softly, "Come, be free."

But freedom, friend, is never light,
It asks for courage, asks for sight.
For in this glass, what do we see?
Our flaws, our fears, our frailty.

Yet truth is kind, though hard to hold,
A fire that cleanses, bright and bold.
It strips away the masks we wear,
Reveals the soul, both pure and bare.

To grow, we must not turn and flee,
From all we are, from all we see.
For growth is born from truth embraced,
Not from the lies we chase in haste.

The heart expands when it can face,
Its own mistakes, its own disgrace.
And in that knowing, there's a grace,
That leads us to a higher place.

For strength is found not in denial,
But in the honesty of the trial.
The more we accept, the more we learn,
Through pain, through joy, through fires we burn.

And those who grow are those who stay,
Who do not flinch or run away.
For they have learned that to be whole,
Requires a reckoning with the soul.

So stand before that mirrored truth,
Embrace your age, embrace your youth.
For only then can you ascend,
And find the strength to rise, to mend.

The deeper you look, the more you'll find,
The growth of heart, the growth of mind.
In truth, there lies the power to be,
Unbroken, boundless, and truly free.

There is a voice not of syllables or sound,
not of vowels stitched to breath,
it hides in the pulse beneath your skin,
it hums in the marrow of mountains split open
and rivers unchained.

It speaks in the bend of the trees,
where the wind aches to be known,
and in the spaces between heartbeats,
where silence clings like ash.

It is the cry of stars unravelling,
light-years collapsing into whispers
only felt by those who listen with their bones,
with the roots, they bury in the earth's tender belly.

You cannot grasp it with language,
it evades the tongue's traps,
a wild thing caught in the thicket
of forgotten dreams.

But if you sit still enough,
let the world crack open your chest,
you'll feel it moving through you,
the speech of things unsaid,
an ancient rhythm, that all the noise
has taught you to forget.

Listen.

A heartbeat in the distance,
once a symphony,
now fractured notes dissolving in air.
Fingers once laced,
like threads weaving worlds,
are loose, and the wind,
whispers goodbye between the gaps.

You were the sun at midnight,
the impossible touch of light,
in places I didn't know could bloom,
but time turned you into a shadow,
fading slow,
leaving nothing but echoes of your warmth.

The road we carved,
marked by laughter and silent promises,
cracks and crumbles beneath the weight of absence.
Each step forward drags the ghost of your smile,
a tether to something no longer there,
but not yet gone.

I hold you,
not in flesh,
but in memory's restless dream,
where your voice still lingers,
on the edge of a word,
that never fully lands.

How can love be lost?
It sits in the marrow,
a fire never truly extinguished,
just misplaced in the night.
Yet the heart learns its new rhythm,
the silence becomes a new kind of music,
and love lost, but not forgotten,
rests somewhere deep,
beneath the skin of the stars.

Two shadows linger where the soul does dwell,
Each whispers truths, yet which shall we compel?
One wears the cloak of hope, a boundless sky,
The other drapes in storms, where doubts reside.

Faith stands unyielding, a flame in the dark,
A quiet whisper, a celestial spark.
It asks for trust in what we cannot prove,
Yet nudges the heart, the spirit to move.

It builds from dreams, a bridge where none appear,
Its pillars born of love, its span sincere.
Through trials vast, its song will never cease,
A steadfast current, carving paths of peace.

Fear too, a force, demands its hungry share,
A shadowed specter, breathing heavy air.
It plants its seeds in moments fraught with doubt,
And tends them well till courage is devout.

Its voice, a thunder, echoes through the night,
And tempts the heart to flee from morning's light.
It thrives on what we dread, on what we lack,
Its siren call pulls weary spirits back.

Both faith and fear demand a quiet trust
In unseen forces, in the fate of dust.
One feeds the fire that dares the stars to rise,
The other dims the glow in hopeful eyes.

The choice is ours: to cower or to climb,
To dwell in shadows or let the soul unwind.
For though unseen, the path we choose is clear,
Will it be faith that guides, or will it be fear?

Risk more than required; let your spirit take flight,
Step boldly through shadows to summon the light.
Learn more than is normal; let curiosity reign,
Each question a treasure, each answer your gain.

Be strong in the tempests, steadfast in the gale,
Show courage when faltering hearts might fail.
Breathe deeply, with purpose, in stillness, in storm,
Excel with your essence, rewrite the norm.

Love fiercely, for love reshapes the mundane,
Lead brightly, a beacon through joy and through pain.
Speak your truth, even when silence prevails,
Live your values, a compass when certainty fails.

Laugh with abandon, let joy fill the air,
Cry without shame, for your soul to repair.
Innovate boldly, let new paths arise,
Simplify wisely, see through the disguise.

Adore mastery; seek it in art and in skill,
Release mediocrity; bend life to your will.
Aim for genius, where brilliance ignites,
Stay humble in triumph, shun ego's heights.

Be kinder than needed, let warmth overflow,
Deliver abundance, let generosity grow.
Exude passion, let fire blaze in your eyes,
Shatter your limits, let your spirit surprise.

Transcend your fears, unshackle your soul,
Inspire by bigness, make others feel whole.
Dream grandly, but start with a seed in the earth,
Act now, without pause, give each moment its worth.

Don't stop; let persistence carve through the stone,
Change the world, and make its wonder your own.
For being amazing is a life that you weave,
A tapestry spun from all you believe.

Letting go is the hardest dance,
A battle fought between heart and chance.
The mind, so eager to step ahead,
But the heart lingers where it's been fed.

For memories are stitched like thread,
Woven deep in all that's said,
In favourite songs, or simple sights,
A brand of pasta, soft lamplights.

The world spins on, but you remain,
Caught in love's sweet, aching chain.
And though you try to walk away,
Your heart insists it still must stay.

It's not weakness this lingering ache,
Nor is it wrong, this path you take.
For healing comes in waves, not lines,
A rhythm not bound by clocks or signs.

There will be days of peace, so rare,
And others when the weight's still there.
But this is life, a tender maze,
Of broken hearts and mending days.

Be kind to you, in this in-between,
Where loss and hope both intervene.
For though they're gone, and life is changed,
The love you had is still unchained.

And on those days when tears do fall,
Remember this, above it all.
When life withholds what once felt true,
It's shaping something fresh for you.

So trust the time, the path unseen,
And know you'll heal, though stuck between.

In the quiet chambers of the heart,
Where love once bloomed, you find your part,
A tender place where memories sing,
Of someone who was everything.

But trying to forget, to erase, to sever,
Is not the task, nor now, nor ever.
For in the marrow of what was shared,
Is a beauty that lingers, a love once declared.

You don’t sanitize the wounds of time,
Or clip the edges of the climb.
No, you cradle the ache, the jagged thorn,
For in its presence, you were reborn.

Let the pain rest where it may,
It teaches in a quiet way.
The love that once felt like the air,
Is not erased, though you may no longer share.

Sometimes life moves with a heavier hand,
And you must lay down what you planned.
You walk away, not in defeat,
But knowing some roads will never meet.

The heart grows too big, desires too far,
And you must follow your own star.
It’s okay to leave, to let go, to release,
For in that, too, there’s quiet peace.

Though you thought forever was in the weave,
There’s grace in knowing when to leave.
To accept, to walk, to quietly part,
Is to honor the depth of your own heart.

(Inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson's words)

Write it on your heart, a golden decree,
Each day a jewel, let it glimmer free.
The dawn unfolds with a sacred hue,
A canvas untouched, awash in dew.

The sun ascends, a celestial flame,
Whispering softly, "Today is your name."
No yesterdays linger, no tomorrows plead,
This moment is yours, the soul's only need.

Banish the shadows of fear and regret,
Each breath a promise you've yet to forget.
The world awakens, in chorus it sings,
A hymn of new chances, the joy it brings.

Feel the pulse of life in the morning air,
A love letter waiting, beyond compare.
The trees bend low, their wisdom to share,
"Seize this day; hold it tender, with care."

For every hour is a gift divine,
A chalice of nectar, ambrosial wine.
Drink deeply, dear soul, and let it bestow
The courage to thrive, the freedom to grow.

Even the storm, with its tempest cry,
Clears the way for a brighter sky.
The rain is a poet, its verses profound,
Each droplet a blessing, the earth is crowned.

Write it on your heart, etch it in gold,
Each day a treasure, its worth untold.
No promise is greater, no truth more clear,
Today is the best day of the year.

In the quiet heart of Autumn, where amber leaves descend,
There lies a lesson in each golden branch that bends.
These trees, in graceful ease, surrender to the air,
Their leafy hands unfurl, releasing every care.

Each leaf once green with spring's eager, pulsing light,
Turned to gold and crimson in Autumn's softer sight.
No longer bound by summer's heat or spring's early grace,
They drift to earth with beauty, accepting time and space.

And if these trees, so rooted, so steadfast, so bold,
Can trust the fading sun and brave the coming cold,
Perhaps, like them, I too might loosen what I hold,
Let go of what was mine, of all that's grown too old.

For in the letting go, I find a tender peace,
A whispered promise, sweet, of freedom in release.
What once I clung to fiercely, now softens in the breeze,
Transforming loss to wisdom, as memory leaves with ease.

The tree does not grieve its branches bare and stark;
It stands in calm surrender as night drapes close and dark.
Its strength is not in clinging, but in the grace to bend,
To shed its worn-out stories, and trust the silent end.

So, as the Autumn teaches with patience, kind and wise,
I watch my past drift gently, like leaves beneath gray skies.
In this quiet bravery, I find a path to free
The weight I once embraced, what used to be just me.

And with each leaf I loosen, with every breath released,
I plant new roots of courage, my spirit's song increased.
For as the trees let go and rest in winter's sleep,
So too, I trust the cycles, in letting go, I keep.

All the hidden wounds will heal one day,
like whispers lost in morning's ray.
The silent ache, the uncried tears,
will vanish with the passing years.

The scars will fade, their stories dim,
like echoes sung in twilight's hymn.
No longer will the past hold tight,
for love will bathe you in its light.

The pain will bow, then take its leave,
no longer shadows heave and weave.
No longer storms will haunt your skies,
but gentle dawns with golden eyes.

And happiness, so soft, so true,
will bloom within, will dance with you.
A guest no more, but home to stay,
to paint your heart in hues of May.

For you were made for love alone,
not endless nights of ache and stone.
Your heart was shaped by hands divine,
a sacred place where stars align.

So hush, dear soul, the time will come
when sorrow sings its final drum.
And love will stand, arms open wide,
to claim its place, forever inside.

Yoga, ancient, sacred, a dance of grace,
A practice woven through time, in every place.
With breaths that rise and fall like the sea,
It roots the soul and sets it free.

Why do I practice? Oh, let me tell,
Of a world within, where stillness dwells.
In the silence of breath, soft as night’s caress,
Yoga draws me near, and I'm one with less,
Less of the worries that cloud my sight,
Less of the burdens that weigh and fight.

In gentle poses, in stilled embrace,
I find the shape of inner space.
In meditative flow, the outer fades,
I drift from the noise and the world’s charades.
Through asanas that open, twist, and bend,
I meet the self, as my truest friend.

Each stretch, a prayer, each pose, a shrine,
To the sacred body and the mind’s design.
And in those moments of pure release,
I uncover my heart, I uncover peace.
Gone are the walls, the restless pace,
I find a sanctuary in time and space.

The sun salutes, the moon bows low,
In this ancient ritual’s steady flow,
I discover wisdom, quiet, deep,
In Yoga’s heart, where secrets sleep.

Why do I practice? To simply be,
To touch the threads of eternity.
It’s more than motion, more than breath,
It’s life within life, and in life, death.

The shedding of layers, to see and to know,
The self beyond what outwardly shows.
I practice Yoga to dance with soul,
To remember myself as whole.

In the sweetness of friendship, a light softly glows,
A warmth that the heart in its stillness well knows.
Let there be laughter, like a song on the breeze,
A melody whispered through sun-dappled trees.

For in this communion, life's burdens grow light,
Shared joys become stars that illumine the night.
The pleasure of moments, both simple and rare,
Is a treasure we gather with love's tender care.

A smile exchanged in the quiet of dawn,
A word that rekindles when hope seems withdrawn.
Like the dew on the petals at morning's first gleam,
Friendship revives us, a comforting dream.

Not in the grandeur of triumphs we find,
But in the small joys, the unspoken kind.
The clasp of a hand, the glint of an eye,
The laughter that dances, unchained to the sky.

These little things, a glance, a shared cup of tea,
Are pearls in the ocean of life's mystery.
Each droplet of kindness, a balm for the soul,
Each moment of laughter, a piece of the whole.

And as dew on the meadow, it quietly heals,
The heart finds its morning in all that it feels.
A freshness, a vigor, a life redefined,
Through friendship's pure sweetness, our spirits aligned.

So let us give laughter, and pleasures, and more,
A refuge, a haven, an open heart's door.
For in these small wonders, our joy is expressed,
In the sweetness of friendship, the soul is at rest.

The stone in the road, sharp-edged, scraping the soles,
is it burden, or a shift in the wind?
A scream might rise, teeth bared against fate,
but listen closely, in its echo is the sound of wings.

The earth turns slow,
gravel underfoot bruises the skin,
but that sting, that ache,
is the pulse of the universe saying, Move.

The fall is not the breaking;
it is the breath that finds your lungs anew,
as you turn and twist into directions
you had never dreamed,
the unseen galaxies in your bones waking up.

The obstacle is the heartbeat of change,
a violent push, a whisper in disguise,
hurling you to a horizon you hadn’t thought to reach.
What you thought was in the way was only clearing it.

Beneath the skies where sun once gently kissed,
The earth now trembles, wrapped in warming mist.
Her breath, once pure, now heavy with despair,
The winds lament, their whispers haunt the air.

Oceans swell with sorrow's rising tide,
Swallowing lands where dreams and hope reside.
The coral pales, its vibrant hues erased,
By acid rains, a fragile world displaced.

The forests cry as ancient trees collapse,
A cradle lost within our reckless grasp.
Their roots, once deep, now grasp at fleeting earth,
Their leaves, like tears, recall a verdant birth.

The ice retreats, majestic realms undone,
Their frozen splendor melting in the sun.
The polar bear, adrift on shrinking floes,
A silent witness to the world she knows.

Yet still, a spark of hope ignites the flame,
A call for change resounds in nature's name.
With every hand, united hearts can weave,
A future bright, where earth can yet believe.

O let us rise, the stewards of this place,
To heal her wounds and honour her embrace.
For time still turns, and we hold in our care,
The fragile world that bids us to repair.

Nothing outside yourself can cause you any trouble.
Here, where the breath begins, waves take root in shadows,
and you, the maker of storms and silence, hold them,
a sculptor in your own tides, bound to no storm but the one you summon.

Step back; let your hands unclench,
let the waves ease, let the current
of your thought roll to a gentle pulse,
a quiet that does not seek, that does not grasp.

See how trouble is born from the grip,
the tightness that weaves into the rhythm
of a restless mind, churning because it thinks it must.
The oceans stir, but not from what lies beyond the shore,
they stir for the self-made winds we unleash,
from restless hands that shape the swell.

Let it be. Let the mind rest like stones on the seabed,
each one layered with peace, each one a depth untouched
by surface winds, the rippling chaos of a world beyond.
In this stillness, nothing is heavy, nothing is lost.

For if you leave your mind as it is,
if you walk from the need to move every current,
you find the water rests in the clarity of itself.
Here is peace, untouched, unshaken, clear as the open sky.

Your trouble, your waves, these were only hands,
stretching to hold a force that was never outside.

Oh, isn't it sad, this tale we weave,
Of a heart so giving, yet too bereaved?
Her laughter, a melody, sweet and pure,
A balm for others, their pain's cure.

Her hands, like lanterns, dispelling the dark,
Her smile igniting the faintest spark.
In every soul, she planted delight,
Yet none looked deeper, beyond the light.

She carried the weight of their secret fears,
Wiping their sorrows, drying their tears.
But oh, the silence when night would fall,
Echoing questions, unanswered call.

Isn't it tragic, the giver's plight?
To brighten the world, yet lose her light?
Her joy, a facade, a painted face,
While her heart longed for its own embrace.

Who stopped to wonder, who dared to see,
The woman behind the mystery?
For giving all, she forgot to keep
The dreams that stirred in her soul's deep.

So here's the lesson, a whisper, a plea:
See the unseen, let hearts roam free.
Ask the question, break the chain,
For the giver too feels joy and pain.

Oh, isn't it sad, and isn't it true?
Her light burned bright, but she needed it too.

You do not see it? No, not yet,
But hush, lean in, the air is wet,
with murmurs soft, with silent schemes,
A ripple forming in your dreams.

Somewhere beyond the measured mind,
Beyond the clock, beyond the blind,
A current stirs, a tether tugs,
Unseen hands through unseen rugs.

Weaving fate with thread so fine,
You'd miss it in the light of time,
The logic-bound may doubt and jest,
May clutch the past against their chest.

Yet in your bones, the echo hums,
The quiet cadence - something comes.
A nudge, a note, a feather's fall,
The syncopated cosmic call.

The shifting sky, the bending air,
A path where none was ever there,
And what are you to do, but stay?
Not chase, not plead, not force the way.

But open wide, unclench, undo,
Make space for what is meant for you.
The weight you've borne, the tales now old,
The rusted keys, the hands too cold.

Let them slip, let them fade,
Let the past be past, unmade.
For soon - yes, soon, you'll turn to see,
The tangled threads unwound, set free.

The map that once refused to show
Was drawn by steps you didn't know.
The hush will break, the sky will part,
What's meant for you will meet your heart.

And you will stand where time aligns,
Where fate and trust have intertwined,
And in that moment, bright and true,
You'll smile and say, "I always knew".

(A Poetic Ode)

Beneath the amber skies of fall, we gather near the hearth,
A season's whisper beckons us, to honour what has worth.
The bounty spread upon the table gleams with autumn's hue,
Yet richer still, the wealth of hearts, in gratitude made true.

Oh, Thanksgiving, sacred pause, a hymn to life's delight,
You teach us how to cherish dawns and praise the velvet night.
The golden grains, the ripened fruit, the earth's abundant yield,
Remind us of the laboured hands that tilled each cherished field.

Not just the feast of sustenance, but nourishment of soul,
In giving thanks, our spirits bloom, becoming strong and whole.
We bow to love's eternal flame, to friendships forged in fire,
To dreams that rise like phoenix wings, ignited with desire.

The laughter of the young resounds, the wisdom of the old,
Together weaving memories, more precious than fine gold.
The stories shared around the flame, the blessings softly sung,
Bind us in a tender thread, no matter where we're flung.

Oh, gratitude, a gentle seed that blossoms into grace,
Transforming every moment into something we embrace.
Even in the shadows, there's a light that softly glows,
A quiet joy, a whispered peace that every heart bestows.

Thanksgiving is a sacred gift, a time to truly see,
The beauty in the simple things, the power of "we."
So let us raise our voices high, our thanks to heaven send,
For life, for love, for one another, gifts that never end.

Love rests on no foundation, no stone, no earth, no clay,
No pillar carved by mortal hands, no form that fades away.
It floats upon the endless sea, a tide that knows no shore,
An open sky, eternal blue, forever, evermore.

It rises in the morning mist, it hums the song of stars,
It journeys through the boundless night, unbound by time or scars.
No boundary can confine its reach, no tether hold it fast,
Its present is eternity; no future, and no past.

The endless ocean whispers deep, its voice both fierce and kind,
A tempest wild, a tender breeze, the balance undefined.
It carves the cliffs of fleeting lives, its waves both strong and pure,
A force that bends, that shapes, transforms, yet leaves the soul secure.

No source can claim its genesis, no point can mark its start,
It spills beyond the map of thought, and floods the aching heart.
No end awaits its ceaseless tide, no shore to bid adieu,
Its currents flow through every life, through every "me" and "you."

To grasp its form is to let go, to hold it is to free,
To lose yourself within its depths, and find infinity.
For love, unmoored, untamed, divine, is more than we can name,
An endless ocean, vast and wild, yet every wave the same.

So cast away your anchor, drift, surrender to its flow,
For love's great truth is simply this: the only home you'll know.

Melt like snow beneath a sunlit sky,
Let your burdens fade, let the old self die.
Each flake of sorrow, each shard of pride,
Softly dissolves as the streams confide.

Wash yourself from yourself, oh soul laid bare,
Find in the stillness a truth to declare.
The world will whisper, "Hold fast, don't yield,"
But love is not found in a fortress or shield.

It blooms in surrender, in silence profound,
In the space where no chains of the ego are bound.
Let the river cleanse what clings to the bone,
And hear the whispers of seeds you've sown.

Love, silent as a lily, takes root in your core,
No trumpet to herald, no need to implore.
Its petals unfold in the quiet of night,
A miracle formed in the absence of fight.

Not loud, not proud, not seeking the throne,
It thrives in a heart that has learned to atone.
Oh, let yourself vanish, dissolve in the stream,
For love is the dream within all other dreams.

The soul that releases, the self that refrains,
Shall find in its yielding what truly remains.
A garden eternal, where lilies reside,
Their fragrance a hymn to the love inside.

So melt like snow, and wash yourself free,
A vessel of grace for the vast, endless sea.
Let love grow quiet, yet steadfast and strong,
A lily's soft bloom is where you belong.

In the hush before the kettle sings,
Where morning drips from silver strings,
And sunbeams crawl on the windowsill,
Time pauses… just long enough to fill.

Do not - dear dreamer - slip back to grey,
Where thought loops tight in tangled fray.
Wake up! The world is softly grand,
A teacup trembling in your hand.

Gratitude tiptoes in bare, sweet feet,
Through toast crumbs, yawns, and tangled sheets.
She wears no crown, she needs no fame,
Yet all she touches finds its name.

Be kind - yes, even to the bee
That circles twice, then lets you be.
Be kind to traffic, to aching knees,
To grumpy clouds and stubborn trees.

The cosmos spins, a silent tune,
One minute sun, the next a moon.
Life changes coats - velvet, then threadbare,
It dances swift through shifting air.

So don’t get caught in grumble’s snare,
Or overthink the crooked stair.
The rose is best just smelled, not solved,
And mysteries are best evolved.

Bless the moment - the spoon, the sigh,
The way your laughter splits the sky.
A whisper floats: Be still. Be here.
The sacred hides in the simple, so near.

In the stillness of your mind, truth hums,
A whisper in shadows, where silence drums.
It lingers softly, a quiet refrain,
Nestled in corners of joy and pain.

It waits in the pit where instincts dwell,
A weight on your chest, a story to tell.
You push, you pull, yet there it stays,
Threading your nights and haunting your days.

To know is a blade that cuts so deep,
Through veils of denial, through restless sleep.
Yet knowing alone is a hollow key,
Until you accept what's meant to be.

Acceptance, a bridge so fraught with demand,
It asks for your courage, a trembling stand.
It calls for release of the things you've held,
The hopes that have bound you, the fears you've quelled.

Change looms like a tempest, fierce and wide,
But within it, strength will always reside.
The answer is etched, carved into your soul,
Not a fragment, but the whole of the whole.

Still, you stall, you bargain for time,
For proof, for signs, for stars to align.
But beneath it all, the truth is clear,
Its voice grows louder, ever near.

To surrender is not to bow or break,
But to rise with the courage your heart will make.
For the strength you seek is already there,
In the depths of your being, waiting to dare.

So step through the fire, embrace the flame,
Let knowing and accepting become the same.
On the other side, you'll find your way,
Lit by the truth you faced today.

I close the book, its spine sighs shut,
the whisper of a thousand nights drawn in.
A chapter folds like hands in prayer,
but not all endings are so clean.

The lantern dims. The room forgets.
Yet on my fingers, dusk still clings,
not with fire, but with a bruise,
of words that bled with shaken wings.

I turned the page; it turned me back,
a mirror’s glance, a hollow swell.
The tale is done, but silence keeps,
what ink refuses to quell.

The parchment sleeps, but I remain
marked by the shadows love once wore.
We name it "past", but past is ink,
and ink remembers so much more.

So let the book stay closed awhile,
beneath the dust, beneath the rain.
The lines may fade, but not the ache,
of what was written in hurried vein.

What if I told you, in hush not heard, but felt,
That the ache you name as longing
is the echo of a promise kept?
Not in some far-off fortune,
but in a chamber of the Now
where time folds in upon itself
like linen soft with memory.

You want it deeply, don't you?
That golden glint behind your ribs,
the ache that doesn’t bruise but burns,
not a wound, but a whisper.
It is not born of lack.
It is the future’s fragrant breath
blooming backward into your soul.

These aren’t dreams, my love,
they are breadcrumbs dropped
by a wiser You who’s already danced
through that doorway,
wearing the life you crave
like sunlight wears the morning.

Intuition isn’t guessing,
it’s remembering,
as the river remembers the sea.
Desire is not begging,
it is recognition,
a soul pointing to its own reflection
just beyond the veil.

So walk like it’s yours.
Breathe it. Speak it.
Dress your days in its colour.
Let the vision not be a someday shrine
but a mirror, a map, a marrow.

Because what you want is not ahead,
it is within,
waiting only
to be believed in.