On the quiet hill
above the world,
I find the quiet
that crowds cannot give.
Here, beneath the dome of
endless sky,
Solitude whispers
what noise drowns out.

The grass holds secrets,
the silence sings,
Each blade a thought
I'm free to think.
No footprints but mine
mark this sacred ground—
In stillness, I am finally found.

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What Was Once Home
# Captioned #

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Never Going Home

# Captioned #

-

Sometimes I wonder
if they were ever truly closed,
or simply waiting—
patient as ancient oaks—
for me to grow tall enough
to reach the handle,
wise enough to turn it
at just the right moment?

#captioned #

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Love like Library

-

The ceiling tonight appeals to me
As though glad that I finally see—
I see the cracks that have taken form
Like wrinkles when youth fades away

I see the cobwebs in corners too,
Patterns intricately woven, layer by layer
There's stillness in these walls above,
The kind that fills hearts devoid of love

I see the grime that coats the blades
Of the fan that cooled and came to my aid
I wonder how it came to this—
It's not as though I've been away from peace

Each night I lay beneath these makeshift stars
Yet only now I see I've neglected them all
Right before my eyes, each detail missed
Like the relations I took for granted, I confess

The space above holds patient vigil still
While I learned to look but not to see
Now in this quiet, I finally will
Acknowledge what was always watching me.

-

I woke to silence
that somehow speaks
Sunshine peeking through
the half-opened curtains
Enough to warm my face
but not blind my sight
A sticky note -
wishing the best of mornings
A cup of caffeine
on the warmer
And a plate of sunnyside up
to lift me up.

A gentle smile unbidden
graces my face
Softens the creases
from the nightmare before
The ritual of your care
washing away the shadows
I whisper gratitude
to the heavens above
For blessing my life with
the miracle of you..

-

What Survives of Us

#continued in caption #

-

Beneath the golden honey sun,
Your laughter dances on the breeze,
We walk through fields of swaying wheat,
While fireflies wake in evening's ease.

Your eyes reflect the azure sky,
We chase the sunset to the shore,
Where waves whisper our secret names,
And hearts ignite forevermore.

Oh, summer love, you taste of peaches,
A season's gift that blooms so true—
Let's gather every stolen kiss,
Before the autumn steals me from you.

-

I still have my pink umbrella—
the one with scattered yellow sunshines
dotting the canopy.
You once said it reflects
my untainted innocence.

The fabric would bloom open with each storm,
and I'd feel raindrops drumming against the bright surface.
As seasons changed, you grew wary of it.
I needed to outgrow such things, you chided.
"You cannot always be so timid," came your remark
like thunder striking on a peaceful night.

Today, many monsoons later,
I trace the worn handle
and have memories—
memories of you and that pink umbrella.
A gentle insistence that no matter the season,
there is warmth beyond the steel-gray heavens.

I cannot let the sunshine within dim.

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