In twilight's hush, whispers rise,
Where shadows dance 'neath starlit skies.
A symphony of whispers, soft and low,
Echoes of dreams from long ago.
In every breath, a tale untold,
In every silence, secrets hold.
The moon's soft glow, a gentle guide,
Through realms of wonder, far and wide.
In whispered winds, a lullaby,
Of hopes and fears that soar and fly.
In poetry's embrace, we find release,
In every word, a sense of peace.
So let us drift in whispered song,
Where hearts and dreams forever belong.
About the Creator
Isra Saleem
Versatile writer skilled in both tale & stories. Captivate readers with engaging content & immersive narratives. Passionate about informing, inspiring, & entertaining through words.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar4 days ago in Feast
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