What does working together really mean? Working on opportunities to provide reactions to all kinds of Kaleidescopic intentions and invitations that one may have
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Poets
The roof above may still stand tall, But silence echoes through each hall. A house of brick, of paint and tile, Yet peace has left it for a while.
By muqaddas shuraabout a year ago in Poets
If you find this poem between grocery lists and laundry piles— it’s for you. You, who forgets to count themselves in the list
By Malik Kashifabout a year ago in Poets
The sky once forgot how to be blue. Birds flapped around, asking the wind for directions. The sun yawned, spilled golden juice
To the ones who wake up with a weight they can’t name— keep going. To the hearts that break quietly on crowded trains—
You were a poem I never wrote down. I kept you between breath and heartbeat, where ink couldn’t erase you.
There’s dust in the attic, and boxes of time— a wedding dress faded, a clock with no chime. The ghosts here are quiet, they whisper in threads,
A hundred names carved in the bark of this old oak. Some hearts still beat, some don't. The tree doesn’t know which is which.
I saw you in the reflection of a broken window— a ghost of a glance lit by accidental moonlight. You didn’t look away.
Fold me a planet from paper dreams— crease it at regret, tuck the moons under laughter, let it spin on an axis of maybe.
It wasn’t love, not really— just the way you stirred your coffee like the storm outside wasn’t worth worrying about. And I,
Beneath my feet, stones tell stories— not loud, but persistent. A sigh of gravel, the hush of moss. They remember where rivers ran,
