She was the flame that refused to die -
the kind that turned fire into rhythm,
pain into poetry, darkness into light.
She painted her scars in radiant hues of bliss,
stitched her shadows into beauty,
and like the ocean that hides its truth beneath waves,
her soul carried mysteries no one could unveil.

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The nights breathe your words into my silence, as the stars listen and the crescent moon holds witness to my poetry of longing.

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Phir kabhi jo baantein hum ek cup chai aur ek shaam,
Tum le aana aapne kisse tamaam,
Mein sambhaal lungi unhe aur rang dungi unhe bas sukoon k rang mein.

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The echoes of her anklets wove through the silence, turning stillness into poetry, and his heart bent willingly to their rhythm.
Each note was a vow, each chime a soft surrender, binding him closer to her with invisible threads.

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He is the quiet miracle that teaches my heart to breathe,
the tender pause in a restless world,
the breeze that eases my summer,
and the quiet that makes my storms forget their rage.

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He saw me in spring, full of bloom and hope,
In summer, burning with wild fire,
In autumn, fading, learning to let go,
In winter, quiet, distant, and cold,
He saw me in all my seasons, and still chose to come back as if I were his home.

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He paints her story in vibrant hues,
While she is the calm that tames his fuse.
In her silence, he finds his song,
In his chaos, she feels she belongs.
He is the storm that shakes the night,
She is the moon that makes it right.
Together they dance, fire and rain,
A love that blooms through joy and pain.

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My silence hums only your name,
soft as a prayer, wild as a flame.
And all that the world calls imperfect in you, is the very art my soul clings to.

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When your hand wrapped around mine,
life learned how to smile for the very first time.

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Wrap me in your colour, hold me through the hush,
a love that speaks in stillness, not in rush.

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