Spring lodge

 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...

 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...

 Take me far away, beyond the crowded street, Where silence breathes softly, and dreams gently meet. Let me drift past mountains, their crowns touched with snow, Into valleys where whispers of lost rivers flow. Take me far away, to the edge of the skies, Where dawn paints its colors and starlight still lies. Let me sail on the wings of a wandering breeze, Over oceans unbroken, through forests of peace. Take me where sorrow forgets its own name, Where joy burns eternal, a bright steady flame. Let the burden of yesterday fall from my chest, And cradle me kindly in places of rest. Take me to gardens no shadow can find, Where time folds its pages and frees up the mind. Where flowers keep singing though no one is near, And silence itself is a song one can hear. Take me far away, where the night is a friend, And every horizon feels closer to end. Where hearts are unbroken, and spirits can soar, And I am not weary, not lost anymore. Take me far away, but not just to roam— Take me to place...

 Upon the city’s restless street, Where echoes of wealth and footsteps meet, A figure bends with weary eyes, Beneath the open, endless skies. A bowl of tin, a hand held still, Not asking much, just fate’s small will. The world rushes past in painted hue, Yet none pause long, not even a few. The beggar’s life is stitched with thread, Of nights half-hungry, dreams half-fed. He sees the world from shadows cast, A ghost of futures that never last. Children laugh, their voices soar, Merchants trade from store to store. But he remains, a silent plea, A mirror of lost humanity. The rain falls hard, it wets his skin, But hope still lingers deep within. Perhaps tomorrow, bread, or light, Perhaps one hand will see his plight. Each coin that drops rings not of gold, But of compassion, brave and bold. For in that sound, a truth appears, A life is more than hunger or tears. He dreams of days with steady ground, A home, a fire, a peace profound. Yet still he wakes to street’s harsh song, Where n...

 My lost voice. It left a small cave of ribs at dawn, a hollow that smelled of rain. I searched under pillows, between punctuation marks, inside the pockets of my old jacket where I keep winters. I offered paper boats folded from the thin maps of my throat, each with apology. At the market the fishmonger hummed; his song filled the alleys. A child chased a kite that knotted itself in the wind and laughed. I listened to the echo of other people's breaths, like a bell, trading the syllables I owed the world for pocket change and hope. My lost voice learned to be careful — it hid behind curtains, it practiced silence like a monk counting steps, slow and steady. Sometimes it peered out through a cracked window and mouthed the weather, watching sparrows argue about direction like small, winged philosophers. Once, I heard a radio speak its name without shame, a word folding into my chest and making fire. I slid toward that warmth, fingers soft as evening, but the word slipped back, acros...

 The night arrived, but darkness did not reign, For silver moons cast light upon the plain. Each star was burning, quiet yet so near, Whispering secrets only dreamers hear. The sky became a lantern vast and wide, Its shimmering veil could never hide. Mountains stood still, their shadows aglow, While rivers mirrored the heavens’ flow. Owls sang softly from ancient trees, Their notes were carried on gentle breeze. The earth felt calm, a sacred breath, A pause between life, time, and death. The bright night offered a peaceful hand, Guiding the lost across silent land. No fear, no sorrow, no haunting sound, Only wonder circling all around. The fields lay drenched in silver beams, Turning reality into dreams. Every leaf gleamed like polished glass, Every second felt too brief to pass. Wanderers looked up with aching hearts, Finding in starlight a place to start. The weary soul found hope reborn, Awaiting the promise of radiant dawn. The bright night whispered: You are not small, For you...

 The sun withdrew its golden light, And shadows swallowed all the sky. A silence deep, too sharp, too tight, Pressed heavy tears that would not dry. The trees stood still, their whispers gone, The rivers froze their gentle song. Each heartbeat felt a jagged stone, Each moment stretched unbearably long. Dreams collapsed like brittle glass, Hope lay broken in the dust. The clock refused its hours to pass, And every promise turned to rust. Yet in the black, a faint spark stayed, A tiny flame that would not die. Even the darkest day will fade, And dawn will hea l the weeping sky.

 Dear Apa , I write to you in whispers of dawn, Your laughter still lingers where the sunlight has shone. The echoes of your footsteps dance in the hall, A memory so vivid, I feel you through it all. Your hands, strong as rivers, gentle as rain, Built worlds around me, shielded me from pain. In your eyes, I saw courage, a sky vast and wide, A compass, a harbor, where I could always hide. Dear Apa, do you remember the nights we would talk? Underneath stars, along our long familiar walk. Your stories, like magic, stitched dreams into me, Taught me how boundless a small heart could be. Even now, I sense your voice in the breeze, A melody that hums through the whispering trees. “Be kind, be brave, be honest, be true,” Every lesson, a torch, lighting what I do. I remember your hands gripping mine in the rain, The warmth of your presence, easing my pain. Even when distance stretches, unseen and long, Your love is the rhythm that carries me along. Dear Apa, the world feels bigger when you...

 I stand where shadows clutch the fading light, Where whispers of yesterday drift in the night. The air is heavy, thick with silent despair, And every heartbeat trembles in the empty air. My hands, once steady, now shake with fear, Grasping at echoes that refuse to appear. The world seems a canvas of broken dreams, A river of sorrow with relentless streams. Yet, beneath the rubble, a spark still glows, A fragile ember where the cold wind blows. Though the night presses hard, unyielding and long, It hums a soft, defiant, trembling song. Hope —so slight, yet stubbornly alive, Clings to the corners where the shadows thrive. It flickers like a candle in a storm, A quiet promise, a gentle form. I recall the warmth of mornings past, Moments I thought would always last. The laughter, the touch, the fleeting grace, The light that once danced upon my face. Even at the verge, where death seems near, Hope whispers softly, calm and clear: “Do not yield to the endless night, There is a dawn ...

 A tremor stirs beneath my skin, A world unknown about to begin. Eyes meet eyes, a fleeting spark, A trembling light within the dark. Whispers soft, a nervous laugh, Time dissolves, it slips in half. Hands explore a tender space, Curiosity etched on every face. The heart pounds like distant drums, A rhythm new, where courage hums. Fingers brush, a hesitant glide, A river opens, no need to hide. Moments stretch, then fold again, A fragile blend of thrill and pain. Innocence wavers, shy and sweet, A private storm where two souls meet. Breath catches, warm and near, Every heartbeat is loud and clear. Eyes close to savor the unknown, A fragile seed of love is sown. Laughter dances, tinged with fear, Yet comfort blooms when someone’s near. A shared secret, gentle and shy, A first taste of wings to fly. Shadows mingle with morning light, A tender ache from the night’s flight. Soft confessions, whispered low, A story only hearts could know. Memories carved in fleeting fire, A quiet pulse ...

 I remember the shy glances, The way your laughter lit the air, A spark that danced in stolen moments, A warmth I found nowhere else to share. The world seemed small and infinite, Whenever our paths would meet, Your hand brushed mine, electric and trembling, A rhythm my heart could not defeat. We spoke in whispers, secret and tender, Stories spun in a language of two, Each glance, each smile, a promise unspoken, A universe born where only we knew. The first time our fingers entwined, Time paused, held us suspended, Every heartbeat, every breath, A song of innocence and wonder, unended. I recall the summer sunsets, Painting the sky in amber and rose, We walked barefoot on the grass, Tracing dreams only childhood knows. Your eyes, deep pools of curiosity, Mirrored the world I longed to see, Through your gaze, I learned of magic, And of love’s first, sweet gravity. Seasons changed, as they always do, But the echo of you lingered still, A soft imprint on my memory, A gentle ache I coul...

 In the hush of dawn, when the world still sleeps, A whisper of light through the forest creeps. The dew on leaves, a delicate lace, Each droplet a jewel, a soft embrace. The river hums a gentle tune, Reflecting silver beneath the moon. Rocks stand tall like guardians old, Silent watchers of stories untold. A bird takes flight, wings stretched wide, Riding the currents where dreams reside. Its song cuts through the morning mist, A melody too perfect to resist. A child laughs, and the world ignites, Breaking the shadows of darkest nights. Eyes wide with wonder, tiny hands explore, The miracle of life at every door. In every heartbeat, every breath we take, Miracles rise in the choices we make. A smile shared, a hand held tight, Turning the mundane into radiant light. The wind whispers through the golden trees, Carrying secrets on a playful breeze. Flowers bloom in colors so rare, Perfuming the earth with tender care. Even in sorrow, miracles appear, A gentle comfort, a listening ear...

 A rose unfolds with morning light, Petals soft, a pure delight. Its fragrance drifts on gentle air, Whispering beauty everywhere. Thorns may guard its tender bloom, Yet in its heart, there’s no room For anything but love and grace, A fleeting smile time can’t erase.

 Beggar has no world to call his own, No shining streets, no gilded throne. He walks through shadows, quiet and cold, His dreams like whispers, timid and old. The world moves fast, yet turns away, Ignoring the stories he cannot say. Yet in his eyes, a spark remains, A silent hope through hunger and pains. For though the world may not give a hand, He carries his own sky, his own land. A heart unseen, yet brave and free, Beggar has a world inside, you see.