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Whispers of flesh

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 In the quiet hum of midnight, Two shadows converge, A dance older than words, A rhythm carved in pulse and breath. Fingers trace the edges of yearning, Mapping the contours of vulnerability, A language without letters, Spoken in sighs and shivers. The world outside dissolves, Time bends and folds Around the heat of proximity, The tender clash of bodies seeking truth. Eyes meet like open doors, Inviting secrets, The trust of skin pressed to skin, A covenant beyond promise. Breath mingles, shallow and deep, A tide of anticipation rising, Each touch a question, Each tremor an answer. Pleasure blooms like a hidden garden, Fragrant and secret, Where every caress is both compass and map, Leading to the heart’s quiet altar. Not all passion is fire; Some is the steady pulse Of lips tracing love’s ancient script, The comfort of a hand held in the dark. In this union, there is both surrender and claim, A sacred geometry of closeness, Where two become mirrors of desire, And the body speaks t...
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Humanity

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 In the quiet dawn, when the world awakes, Humanity stirs, and the earth softly shakes. From the humble heart to the soaring mind, A tapestry woven, all colors combined. Through the laughter of children, innocence pure, And the silent tears, when pain finds a cure, We stumble and falter, yet rise and strive, In the pulse of life, we are truly alive. Hands that build, hands that heal, Hands that break, and hands that kneel. In every gesture, a story is spun, Of battles fought, of races run. The deserts whisper of thirst and fight, The oceans roar with endless might. Mountains echo the dreams we chase, In every corner, humanity leaves its trace. We carry love in fragile bones, We speak in a thousand tongues, yet moan. Bound by blood, by earth, by sky, By the questions we ask, and the reasons why. Forgive, forget, and hold with care, The fragile lives we all must share. From cities bright to villages small, Humanity rises, and sometimes falls. In the gaze of strangers, a mirror we fin...
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What is Happiness

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 Happiness is a morning light, gentle and bright, A whisper of dawn chasing away the night. It dances in the dew on a leaf’s tender edge, A promise that life is more than a solemn pledge. It’s the laughter of children, ringing so clear, Echoing hope that all hearts long to hear. It lives in the warmth of a hand held tight, In the quiet of stars that pierce the night. Happiness is the scent of rain on dry earth, A subtle reminder of life, love, and rebirth. It grows in the gardens of small, simple things, In the song a bird from its perch joyously sings. It is not in gold, nor the treasures we chase, But in the soft moments time cannot erase. It hides in the corners of ordinary days, In the humble acts that go unseen, ablaze. It is found in forgiveness, a heart let free, In the courage to face what is yet to be. It blooms in the mind that chooses to see, The silver threads woven in life’s tapestry. Happiness is laughter shared under rain, The healing of sorrow, the easing of pain. I...
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The eternal river

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  A silver thread begins in the highland ’s breast, Born from the whisper of snow and cloud’s rest. It tumbles through rocks with a youthful cry, A mirror of freedom beneath the sky. The river sings where silence once lay, Carving the earth in a patient way. Each drop a traveler, each wave a song, Carrying time as it journeys along. It gathers the rain, the mountain’s tears, It carries the weight of forgotten years. Villages bloom along its side, Children laugh where the waters glide. The river listens to secrets untold, Stories of lovers, the timid, the bold. It knows the roots of the willow’s bend , It knows where beginnings and endings blend. At dawn it shimmers with golden light, At dusk it glows with a softer sight. Moonbeams dance on its endless skin, As stars above lean gently in. The river teaches with every flow, That strength is gentle, and peace may grow. Though stones may block and storms may roar, It finds its way, forever more. And when it reaches the ocean wide, It...
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Song of begger

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 The world doesn’t belong to beggar, Nor to hands forever raised in plea. It belongs to the dreamer, the doer, To those who dare shape destiny. A beggar waits on empty streets, Eyes searching for a coin, a crumb, But time is merciless, swift, unseen, And silent winds remind what’s to come. The earth belongs to the worker’s stride, The farmer tilling the stubborn land, The artist painting with fire inside, The builder with calloused, steady hand. The world belongs to those who climb, Who stumble yet rise with stronger will, Who write their name on the walls of time, Refusing to bow, refusing to still. A beggar’s cup may echo hollow, But courage fills the heart of the brave; Tomorrow waits for those who follow The path they carve, not the one they crave. The world belongs to the seeker’s voice, To hearts that burn with noble flame, To souls who walk with tireless choice, And claim their place without shame. The world is not a coin to spare, Nor mercy tossed upon the floor; It is a ga...
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18th September

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 The morning breaks with a golden hue, A sky painted in endless blue. Birds whisper secrets to the dawn, And memories linger, though time has gone. The breeze carries stories untold, Of laughter, sorrow, hearts once bold. Footsteps echo on the old stone street, Where past and present silently meet. 18 September, a day of light, Yet shadows linger from the night. Moments etched in fragile glass, Fading slowly, they never pass. A child’s laughter, a mother’s gaze, Sunsets that set the heart ablaze. Every sigh and every tear, Marks a journey through love and fear. Leaves fall gently, a rustling song, Reminding us where we belong. The river hums a tender tune, Reflecting the silver eye of the moon. Time moves softly, yet it flies, Painting truths in quiet skies. We hold the past, we dream ahead, On paths where fleeting angels tread. Candles flicker in the evening’s hush, Shadows of moments in a gentle rush. We write our stories, word by word, Hoping someday they will be heard. 18 Septe...
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The air I breath is older than my age

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 The air I breathe is older than my years, it drifts through mountains, rivers, and valleys, a silent traveler carrying stories untold, the whispers of dawn, the sighs of twilight, the prayers of generations wrapped in wind. It enters me softly, unnoticed, unseen, yet it is my first companion, my quiet lifeline, a thread weaving body to spirit, anchoring me gently to this fragile world. I never ask it to stay, yet it lingers, faithful as a shadow, patient as the sky. The air I breathe has touched distant shores, kissed the blossoms in spring’s gentle embrace, danced with fireflies in summer nights, and brushed the frost from winter’s pale lips. It knows the laughter of children at play, and the aching sighs of those who grieve. Sometimes it tastes of rain, heavy and kind, sometimes of smoke, sharp and sorrowful, sometimes of pine and earth, pure as prayer, reminding me that all things are borrowed, and nothing remains unchanged. In each breath, I receive a gift: life renewed, heart...
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