Look to the sky — each cloud is forged alone,
Yet from afar, they wear the same white throne.
  They drift like thoughts, alike yet set apart,
  A testament to nature’s restless art.

Likes and unlikes — such is the nature’s lore,
Be the seed that breaks its shell and grows once more.
  Stand firm and nurture all you hold inside,
  Your voice, your shadow, your unpolished pride.

Never let fear hush the thunder in your chest —
Speak storms of truth, though silence might seem best.
  Tongues will wag like branches in the wind,
  But roots run deeper when they don’t pretend.

Most trade their colors for another’s hue,
They wear borrowed skins to seem brand new.
  Yet stand apart — like a lone tree crowned in flame,
  Unafraid to bear your honest name.

You need not twist your soul to be untrue —
Be your own sky, be your sun and morning dew.
  For it’s enough — this flawed and fearless star —
  To live unmasked, to be just who you are.

I miss the euphony of birds at dusk’s soft kiss,
Their songs once crowned the Sun in fleeting bliss.
  Memory stirs — a street scene veiled in light,
  A bygone day reborn in twilight’s bite.

The winding road concluded at the tree’s embrace,
Where stood the Red Box, keeper of time’s trace.
  Forged by decree, a carmine sentinel still,
  Now fallen silent on the village hill.

In boyhood’s wanderings down that humble street,
I’d pause and wonder what secrets it might keep.
  I’d peer within when the Postman came to claim —
  Envelopes slipped like whispers with no name.

At dusk, that vision pierced me with its pain —
A relic ruined by wind and rust and rain.
  Creepers wound their wreaths around its frame,
  While lizards skittered, flies laid siege in vain.

One day, they’ll mark it — a relic of our place,
A story sealed in rust and creeping lace.
  Yet when I think of that red box grown old,
  A boy’s soft longing in my chest takes hold.

Time races on — we too shall find release,
And wish that Red Box might just rust in peace.

Smoke slithered skyward, a silent silver hymn,
Like snakes of sorrow where the light grew dim.
My body, bruised, crept low through war’s refrain,
Yet my heart rang loud in the hush of pain.

The grass, like velvet, welcomed weary skin,
As pines above swayed slow in sacred spin.
The heavens stretched — a canvas washed in gold,
A breathless scene too wondrous to be told.

The Sun emerged, a monarch on his throne,
Scattering sapphires where the wind had blown.
Each blade of grass wore jewels like a bride,
With dewdrops dancing, star-like, side by side.

“Steal them!” stirred the mischief in my chest —
But peace, not plunder, filled my soul with rest.
The fields lay still, like hearts in silent prayer,
The world — a whisper held in morning air.

A single drop, like love, fell on my face,
A gentle kiss, the sky's forgiving grace.
The breeze began to hum a nameless tune,
The clouds gave way, and rain became a boon.

Each dewdrop held the story of the land,
A mirror forged by time and nature’s hand.
They gleamed like thoughts too deep for voice or ink,
Then vanished softly at the eyelid’s blink.

I closed my eyes — not sleep, but soul’s retreat,
Wrapped in the warmth of dawn’s unfolding beat.
Even as darkness tried to claim the day,
The dew kept shining — soft, and sure, and gray.

And I, though broken, found my burden gone —
Bathed in the beauty of the dewy dawn.