Beneath the skin, a thousand silent knives twist, yet she holds back the flood of tears.
But even if the river does not break, her eyes remain a mirror where sorrow carves its truth.

-

Sometimes people teach you not how to love them, but how to stop. They show you where care becomes wasted, where effort turns to emptiness. And in that lesson, you learn to protect your own heart first.

-

When the night feels heavier than I can bear,
I do not need the world, only your quiet nearness.
Your hand in mine is enough to still the storm,
Your silence speaks the comfort no words can give.

It is in my breaking that your love becomes my shelter,
In my tears that your embrace feels like home.
When sorrow weighs me down,
You remind me with every gentle touch—
That even in the darkest hour,
I am held, I am safe, I am loved.

-

The Roar That Never Dies

Upon the pillars, carved in flame,
Ashoka’s lions took their name.
Born of war, yet crowned by peace,
Their roar declared—dharma shall not cease!

Four lions stand, unbent, unbroken,
Every face a vow unspoken.
They watch the land from age to age,
Guardians fierce of India’s stage.

Empires crumbled, invaders came,
But none could silence the lions’ claim.
Through blood, through chains, through foreign hand,
Their spirit thundered across the land.

When freedom rose from a million cries,
It was the lions who claimed the skies.
On every seal, on every crown,
Their roar said—India shall not bow down!

Still they stand, untamed, unshaken,
A fire no darkness has ever taken.
O lion emblem, eternal guide,
The strength of Bharat, our warrior pride.

-

When Saffron Rises

I am the one with saffron—
The dawn-fire of creation, the dusk-fire of doom.
It thunders as Durga’s lion,
It cleaves as Kali’s sword of night.

Saffron is no cloth—
It is the blood of rishis, the vow of warriors,
The immortal flame that neither gods nor demons can tame.

With every breath, I summon the goddess,
With every step, the earth trembles with her storm.

I am the war-chant of ages,
I am the flame upon the battlefield—
I am saffron—
Eternal as the sky,
Unyielding as the mountain,
Roaring as the storm,

-

Where Her Fire Finds the Rest

She knows—
Only he can quiet her heart,
Still the storms clawing at her chest,
Only he can silence the wilderness within,
The chaos spilling through her veins.

And he knows—
The way her storms can be undone,
How her tangled questions fade
Beneath one tender act of love,
The touch that unravels her fury
Into quiet surrender.

Only he—
Can loosen the knots she carries,
Can shatter the weight of her unrest,
Can turn her chaos into calm,
Her trembling into peace,
Her silence into song.

For nothing in this world can ignite her fire,
And nothing in this world can quench her flame—
Except him,
The one who holds both her ruin and her calm,
The one where her fire finds its rest.

-

Echoes of a Betrayal

She returns to the room where he left her to wither,
The four walls still swollen with her screams.
They cradle the sound of her breaking apart,
When his lies betrayed her trembling hands.

The room remembers what he buries in silence—
Her voice splintering, her body crumbling.
The bed still carries the weight of her absence,
The air still suffocates with her disbelief.

Even the walls rise against him,
Echoing the wounds he carved into her.
He ended their world without a farewell,
And this room preserves the corpse of their love.

-

Postponed Forever

Sometimes moments unmask the truth,
Showing circles she could never belong to,
Faces she would never like.
They burn her with their presence—
By the way he chooses them over her.

He bends his hours to their calls,
Never failing to invest his time,
While her existence fades into silence.
Plans with her are ghosts,
Promises dissolve into the air,
But with them, his calendar blooms.

She questions her place in his life—
A shadow standing at the edges,
Watching him build memories
In houses she will never enter.
It confirms what she’s always thought:
Those good days together will never come.

What she longs for will always be postponed,
Their moments always erased by others.
And she stands there, screwed by the truth—
That this repetition is not a mistake,
But the future he’s chosen,
And the future she must endure.

-

The Withering Hour

I bloom like a lamp in the quiet dusk,
Waiting for footsteps that wander elsewhere.
My hours are folded like unopened letters,
While his laughter drifts to other shores.

On sacred dawns I keep the garland whole,
But the petals fall unused in my hands.
He offers the flame to distant altars,
Leaving my shrine cold with silence.

Our journeys were rivers drawn on sand,
Washed away before they touched the sea.
For others he is the steadfast season,
With me only a passing breeze.

So I wither softly beneath the sky,
A name uncalled as time moves by.

-

Left Out of Your Tomorrows

I set the table, candle lit,
Dreaming you might come and sit.
But empty chairs know me too well,
They hold the stories I can’t tell.

The seasons pass, yet you don’t stay,
Your footsteps wander far away.
Your joy takes root in other lands,
While mine slips through my trembling hands.

No storms arrive, just silent rain,
Washing the outlines love left stained.
The hardest truth my heart must keep—
Some bonds were never ours to reap.

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