Tag Archives: Poem

Poem: Solitude

Posted on by
7

I am someone who loves being alone. I love days when there is noone at home and I can revel in the solitude. This poem is an ode to those days of solitude…

Source

Solitude

In the stillness of a quiet room,
Where shadows dance and thoughts consume,
Solitude whispers, a gentle embrace,
A sanctuary found, a sacred space.

No voices echo, no footsteps tread,
Just the silent hum of thoughts unsaid,
In solitude’s arms, the world grows still,
A tranquil haven where dreams fulfill.

The outside clamour fades away,
As solitude invites the heart to stay,
To wander through fields of introspection,
To seek the soul’s quiet reflection.

In the hush of this serene retreat,
The mind finds solace, the spirit is replete,
There is no need for words or human touch,
For solitude’s company is just as much.

Here, the heart can freely roam,
In its vast expanse, it calls its own,
To ponder mysteries, to contemplate,
In solitude, the soul does elevate.

It’s a dance of shadows, a silent song,
Where solitude’s presence feels so strong,
A friend to those who seek its grace,
A refuge found in this quiet place.

In solitude, the self is known,
A time to cherish, a time to own,
The depth of being, the quiet profound,
In solitude’s silence, true peace is found.

So, fear not the quiet, nor the alone,
For in solitude’s realm, the heart has grown,
A tapestry of thoughts, so pure, so wide,
In the embrace of solitude, we find our guide.

Poem: The Calling

Posted on by
Reply

A few years ago, I wrote a poem about being an avid reader and have now decided to write one from the writer’s perspective. Why do I write? Read on to know…

Source

The Calling

The words, they beckon from within,
A siren’s song that won’t give in.
They dance and swirl, a restless tide,
Demanding that I be their guide.

This burning need, this endless ache,
To put pen to paper, thoughts to make.
To craft a world, to paint a scene,
To give these voices life, pristine.

For writing is my truest bliss,
My raison d’être, my life’s abyss.
Without this craft, this sacred art,
I’d wither, lost, with a broken heart.

The page, my canvas, waits for me,
Inviting me to set words free.
To weave a tale, to sing a song,
That carries readers along.

So I will heed this inner call,
This driving force is what drives us all.
I’ll write until my dying day,
For writing is the only way.

Poem: Random Things

Posted on by
Reply

This poem is an ode to the randomness in our lives

Random Things

In the kaleidoscope of existence,
Where chaos pirouettes with chance,
Randomness dons its polka-dot gown,
And life unfolds its curious dance.

Stars collide in cosmic rhapsody,
Their celestial whispers echo:
Embrace the serendipitous tango,
For in chaos lies magic’s glow.

Coffee rings on forgotten notebooks,
Lost keys hiding in coat pockets,
They conspire to lead us astray,
Yet reveal secrets when least expected.

Raindrops tap-dance on umbrellas,
Sunbeams chase shadows away,
The universe giggles, mischievous,
As we twirl through unpredictable ballet.

Socks rebel, mismatched and defiant,
Left foot in stripes, right in polka dots.
We laugh, for perfection is overrated,
And joy blooms in delightful oddities.

Library aisles whisper forgotten tales,
Dog-eared pages hold whispered dreams.
We stumble upon wisdom like lost coins,
And the universe nods, pleased.

A butterfly flutters its fragile wings,
Setting off ripples across oceans.
Tiny choices, like cosmic brushstrokes,
Paint our destinies in hues unknown.

In crowded subways, love notes bloom,
Written on crumpled receipts and napkins.
Strangers read them, hearts skipping beats,
And for a moment, the world aligns.

Perhaps randomness is our shared secret,
The quantum quirk that binds us.
In chaos, we find each other—
Two stardust souls, entangled.

So let’s waltz, my fellow wanderer,
Through this random, beautiful existence,
For in the unplanned steps, we discover
The poetry of life’s sweet happenstance.

Poem: New Year, New Beginnings

Posted on by
Reply

New Year, New Beginnings

The clock strikes twelve, a year takes flight,
Leaving echoes in the falling night.
Confetti rains, a glittering shroud,
On memories whispered, on dreams avowed.

Then dawn ignites, a canvas bare,
Painted by the hopes that fill the air.
Resolutions bloom like fragile buds.
Visions whispered where doubt once thudded.

Unburdened steps, on frosted streets,
Embrace the chill and the promise it brings.
For yesterday’s scars, though faint they trace,
Hold no dominion in this open space.

Let go of burdens, shed the tears,
With laughter’s light, dispel past fears.
Each page unturned, a chance to soar,
To rewrite stories, mend, and explore.

Embrace the dawn; let the echoes ring.
A melody of hope, like a sparrow’s wing,
New beginnings, a phoenix’s flight,
Rising from ashes to the morning light.

So raise a glass, to chapters turned,
Dreams ignited, lessons learned.
May this new year bring joy and happiness.
Fill every corner with light and zero bias.

Let resolutions soar, like kites on high,
As aspirations blossom, reaching the sky,
The New Year is a canvas, pure and bright.
A masterpiece of chances, bathed in light.

In the New Year, like a blooming flower,
We find the strength, the inner power.
The year lies open, a boundless quest,
It’s a new year and with these new beginnings, everything is blessed.

Source

Poem: The Forgotten Diary

Posted on by
Reply
Source

The Forgotten Diary

In the quiet hush of the attic’s embrace,
Amidst the dust and shadows’ chase,
I found a relic of a bygone year.
A forgotten diary, whispering secrets near.

Its cover is time-worn, leather-bound,
Held stories within, in faded ink, unbound.
The ink that once danced with fervour and grace
Now aged, its tales are etched on time’s face.

I cradled it gently, like a fragile heart,
A portal to moments, a forgotten art,
The diary’s pages, a silent plea,
To unlock its secrets, set them free.

I turned the pages, a journey in ink,
To the world of the diary’s keeper, I’d think,
In a sepia-toned world of yesteryears,
I found their joys, hopes, and fears.

In cursive loops, they poured their soul,
Each entry is a piece of a life, a whole,
Dreams penned in the soft candlelight,
Worries are hidden beneath the cover of the night.

They spoke of love, pure and true,
Of a world once vibrant, where dreams once grew,
But as I read on, a tear I’d find,
The diary held heartaches left behind.

Through ink-stained pages, their life unfurled,
A map of their heart, a vintage world,
The forgotten diary, a time machine,
Revealing a life that once had been.

In those quiet moments, as I read,
I felt their presence, their every need,
For in this attic’s dusty, secret lair,
Their memories lived on, suspended in the air.

So, I closed the diary with reverence and care,
Tucked it away, in its hiding, aware,
Though the diary’s keeper was long gone,
Their words and dreams would forever dawn.