VINTAGE TEARS RUN DOWN THE WALLS

“There is a solemnity in decay, where time itself breathes heavier than silence, and every crack whispers secrets of the past. In Venice, I found a room that seemed to listen to its own sorrow.”

In the depth of a Venetian night,

Beneath the moon’s uncertain light,

A woman stands where shadows fall,

Her voice caught in an ancient hall.

The walls, adorned with vintage tears,

Bear witness to forgotten years.

Each faded fresco, each fractured stone,

Holds whispers of lives once brightly known.

Beneath the dust of chandeliers,

The room still aches with long-lost fears.

Velvet drapes in tatters cling,

Like ghosts that mourn but cannot sing.

She stands, a figure carved from strength,

Her voice stretched out to its full length.

“Listen,” she cries, “to the echo within,

For silence itself holds where dreams begin.”

A lace gown, crumpled on the floor,

Speaks of nights when love implored,

Yet now, its threads are bare and thin,

A testament to what had been.

Time’s relentless, unyielding tide,

Has robbed this room of all its pride.

The mirror cracks, its gilded frame,

Reflecting only time’s cruel claim.

Yet she, unbowed, unbroken, tall,

Faces the shadows that haunt this hall.

“Do you hear me?” she whispers loud,

“I am not buried beneath the shroud.

These walls may crumble, stone may crack,

But I am here, and I am back.

To speak of love, to speak of fire,

To breathe again, to rise, inspire.”

Her tears do not fall weak or frail,

They run like rivers through the veil.

Of time, of loss, of longing’s weight,

They forge a path, defying fate.

The villa weeps with her refrain,

Its vintage tears no longer vain.

Her voice unites the past with now,

To memories forgotten, she makes her vow.

“Hold my strength in these walls divine,

Let them remember what once was mine.

Not just a shadow, not just a trace,

But the life I lived, the dreams I chased.”

And as her words fill every space,

Venice itself seems to embrace,

The woman who dared to defy the years,

Turning silence to song, and pain to tears.

Vintage tears still run, but now,

They sing of love’s eternal vow.

A room reborn in echoes’ grace,

A timeless woman’s rightful place.

SUCH A FOOLISH CHILD

“We live within labyrinths of our own creation, blindfolded by the fears we nurture. This poem was born from a silent plea to shatter those walls and let the light pour in.”

They said life is but a fleeting moment,

A shadow that dances and fades with dawn.

Yet you, child, cling to the darkness,

Chained by fears you call your own.

You carry burdens unseen, unspoken,

Your satchel heavy with the weight of years.

Pain walks beside you, silent and ceaseless,

Fear whispers softly, fueling your tears.

Foolish child, so cruel, so lost,

Wandering through mazes of your mind.

Your soul, a prisoner of shallow mirrors,

Where love’s reflection you cannot find.

Blind though you see, you twist the truth,

Your thoughts, a web of veils and lies.

Peace is within your grasp, yet you shun it,

Pointing outward with reproachful eyes.

Drunk on dreams of freedom’s fire,

Yet you build your prison stone by stone.

The illusions you weave consume your spirit,

And in the void, you are alone.

A single tear betrays your sorrow,

Deceived by hope, you dare not believe.

You doubt, you envy, you rage, you wander,

But all the while, the world still breathes.

All will pass, and you will fade—

Fading into a world of shadows,

Where passion, love, and dreams are buried,

Forgotten beneath the fear you sowed.

Child, awaken! Let the walls collapse.

Let your soul breathe where stars collide.

The universe awaits your courage,

To ignite the fire you hold inside.

Look! The world is calling you home,

Its colours bursting like radiant blooms.

Return, and let your spirit soar—

For life, dear child, is yours to consume.

A SECRET HIDDEN INSIDE ME

“There is a fire within that never dims – a whisper, a longing, an ancient voice that calls us to the horizon. This is my ode to the secrets we carry and the strength they ignite.”

A secret lies deep within me,

Its name veiled by the sands of time.

A passion burns, a riddle unfolds,

Its flame eternal, yet undefined.

Sanskrit whispers trace my veins,

Carved in ink both fierce and tender.

The calligraphy of a restless soul,

Seeking truths it cannot surrender.

Freedom’s chime echoes within,

Yet its chains sing songs of years to come.

The horizon tempts with its blazing lure,

A rebel’s dream, where fears succumb.

The madness of longing taunts my sleep,

A panther prowling in moonlit dreams.

It paces within the caverns of my heart,

And I feel its strength in my silent screams.

What keeps me tethered, what pulls me near?

A vice, a love, a life I revere.

It is the ache of wanting, the fire of faith,

The relentless pull of an unseen fate.

Perhaps it is madness—this hunger, this fire.

Or perhaps it is power, unyielding desire.

To grasp what lies beyond the veil,

To touch the stars and carve my trail.

Within me roars this ancient song,

Its melody fierce, its rhythm strong.

A vice, a virtue, a secret flame,

Forever hidden, yet never tame.

O secret, will you always hide?

Or will you burst forth, unbound, untied?

Within you lies my dream, my fight,

The eternal struggle for life and light.

WE HAVE EXHAUSTED OUR RESOURCES

“In our race for more, we forget the balance that sustains us. This poem is a reflection on the paradox of our existence – a cycle of creation and destruction, of hope and despair.”

We have plundered the earth,

Chasing shadows across the sands.

With empty hands, we climb the peaks,

Dreaming of summits we do not understand.

In temples, we bow to gods unseen,

Yet honour idols wrought by man.

Our prayers are whispered into the void,

While greed and fear shape our plans.

We slow the moon’s silent march,

At the brink of the abyss, we pause.

But only to grasp at fleeting treasures,

Never to question their cause.

Armoured by fear, we march through storms,

Seeking solace in a fleeting sun.

Our hearts, volcanoes of rebellion and sorrow,

Erupt with dreams that cannot be undone.

The rain falls, but does not cleanse,

The rivers flow, but do not heal.

We are both creators and destroyers,

Bound by a wheel we cannot still.

O humanity, what will remain?

When the forests wither and the oceans drain?

When the earth, exhausted, falls silent at last,

And our dreams are relics of a forgotten past?

THE DISTANT ROAD

“The road ahead is a metaphor for all we seek and fear. It stretches endlessly, both a promise and a challenge – a reflection of our inner journey.”

The road, the distant road,

How it beckons with its endless lines.

The wind whispers of places unknown,

Of shadows cast by ancient signs.

Lost in dreams, I tread this path,

Each step a question, each shadow a doubt.

The sea crashes, its waves dissolve,

Leaving foam where hope runs out.

I yearned for loss, for wisdom’s cost,

But now, what remains of me?

Perhaps only dust upon the breeze,

A fleeting ghost of what could be.

Where is the path, so pure, so bright,

That destiny promised in the stars?

Its horizon fades into the night,

Yet I still follow its endless scars.

The road, the distant road,

Its echoes haunt my restless heart.

The wind carries my soul away,

Yet I am bound to its eternal start.

In the road’s embrace, I find my truth —

Not in its end, but in its length.

For every shadow and every stone,

Grants me wisdom, grants me strength.

THE WHISPER OF LEAVES

“There was a strange stillness that day, as if the world whispered secrets meant only for the brave to hear. I listened to the leaves, and they carried my fears away.”

The whisper of leaves, fresh winds that cry —

Have we strayed too far beneath this sky?

Perhaps the shard’s edge has cut too deep,

Or the heart’s soft murmur is bound to weep.

A cup falls, shattering in shadowed halls,

A mouse scurries through the silken walls.

Summer has fled, its blossoms dry,

Night’s harsh voice cloaks the garden’s sigh.

Bread turns stale, preserved by mould;

Life lingers on, though not all hold.

A butterfly hides from the empty air,

While water whispers, clouds declare.

The wind moans low, the oak tree bends,

Rumours grow heavy, no voice defends.

Grief drowns grief in this solemn haze,

Cold hands falter, the heart obeys.

The phone rings sharply, a hollow tone,

Echoing glances, a mossy stone.

The tempter’s jest – a cruel disguise,

In paper traps and clever lies.

Coins bow heads; they make us kneel,

Prayers rise heavy, their weight too real.

War without war, hunger’s quiet refrain,

Gold unseen, marking days of pain.

THE ENCHANTED CASTLE

“Dreams sometimes open doors to places we cannot return from. I stood before a castle, its gates swinging wide, and I walked through, knowing the world would never be the same.”

A castle of dreams, its gates unfold,

Once shy, now bold, in whispers told.

I gather words like fleeting sighs,

The river’s rush, where longing lies.

This tender world, so soft, remains—

Why do thoughts bear so many stains?

The sand, the breath, the salt-laced kiss,

Draw me toward a hidden abyss.

The body shrouded in velvet mist,

The sea-wind’s hum, the sunset kissed.

A fragile wave reflects the glass,

Where time and tide shall never pass.

The night holds vigil, stars align,

Each moment whispers, “You are mine.”

A shadow’s dance, a fleeting thread,

The castle lives within my head.

TO DANCE ON THE STARS

“I love to dance. All my childhood, I danced with grace and elegance—classical, waltz, and Latin rhythms that set my spirit free. Even now, when I am weary, only dance can carry me to my world. Beneath the vast sky, I seek not answers but freedom: to dance, to dream, to feel that every step is a triumph over gravity.”

To dance on stars, to feel their glow,

To weave a dream where rivers flow.

To shimmer bright amidst the crowd,

A voice of grace, both strong and proud.

The world unfolds, a canvas vast,

Awaiting rhythm, sure and fast.

The winds may whisper, “no, you can’t,”

But destiny cries, “you shall enchant!”

To be as air, unbound, supreme,

To rise above life’s harsh extreme.

To love, to lead, to stand, to dare,

To dance my way through light and air.

I seek the flight, the endless chase,

The night’s embrace, the wild heart’s grace.

To break the walls that hold me tight,

To let in hope, a golden light.

My soul a fire, my words a song,

A lion’s spirit, fierce and strong.

Forever true to dreams I claim,

A queen of life, in dance’s name.

IN THE SEA OF TEARS

“I ran along the shore today, the wind tearing at my hair, the salt stinging my skin. It felt like the ocean was trying to cleanse my grief. For the first time in months, I felt a glimmer of peace. Grief is a tempest, but even in its depths, I found the strength to stay afloat. The stars above reminded me of the light we carry within.”

The sea of tears, an endless expanse,

Draws me into its mournful dance.

Beneath the waves, where silence cries,

I see no ground, no saving skies.

In this abyss, where deserts fail,

The sun’s fierce fire leaves no trail.

Alone I drift, a shadow untamed,

No longer the one by my name reclaimed.

The winds rise up – my heart burns wild,

No longer the meek, no longer the child.

Hands once soft now wield the flame,

Cleansing the scars of grief’s cruel name.

Through waves of sorrow, I reach the stars,

Breaking the chains of ancient bars.

The granite held tears, now turned to stone,

Yet my soul sings – no longer alone.

THE COLD WIND

“When the world sleeps, the poet awakens. It is in the stillness of the night that verses come alive, though they leave the heart heavier than before. There are winds that strip us bare, leaving nothing but truth in their wake. These are the winds that teach us how to stand.”

The cold wind speaks, its voice alone,

A mournful song in a hollow tone.

Its fingers reach through cloaks and veils,

Revealing truths where silence wails.

The bars of the heart, their iron rusts,

As winter devours hope encrusts.

But beneath the frost, the earth holds tight,

A seed of courage in the night.

A flower rises amidst decay,

Born from the silence of yesterday.

Its petals sing where sorrow stings,

A note resounds from hollow strings.