Friendship
To Anna
In quiet corners of the day, Where light and shadow softly play, Your name drifts in, like whispered rain— A tender thought I can't contain. You are the pause the world forgets, A calm where all my noise resets. The hush between two heartbeats met, A song the soul won’t soon forget. Anna—like autumn in full bloom, With amber skies and silver moon. You carry storms and stillness too, A thousand skies inside of you. The way you speak, the way you stay, Even silence bends your way. You are a chapter never done, A verse that always just begun. If time should steal my breath one day, And all the stars are swept away, Know this: in every dusk and dawn, My love for you goes quietly on.
By Rakibul Islam2 years ago in Poets
The Whispering Woods
In a small village nestled between two great hills, there lived a boy named Aryan. He was kind at heart, curious in mind, and brave in spirit. Aryan loved stories—especially those told by the village elders. But the one tale that fascinated him most was about the Whispering Woods. The Whispering Woods was a dense forest at the edge of the village, full of towering trees and deep silence. According to the villagers, the forest was magical, and it whispered truths to those who dared to enter with a pure heart. But many feared it. Over the years, people claimed to hear strange sounds and see flickering lights. Rumors said anyone who entered never came out the same. Aryan, filled with curiosity, asked his grandfather, “Is it true, Grandpa? Do the trees really whisper?” The old man smiled, eyes twinkling. “Yes, my boy. But not in the way you expect. The forest doesn’t speak with words. It shows you things—things you need to see.” “But what if I get lost?” Aryan asked. “Then trust your heart. It always knows the way home.” One day, Aryan made a bold decision. He packed some food, a water bottle, and his grandfather’s compass. He left a note for his parents and quietly slipped into the Whispering Woods. At first, it was peaceful. The tall trees swayed gently, and the wind made a soft rustling sound that seemed almost like a melody. Birds chirped, and sunlight trickled through the leaves like golden rain. But soon, the path grew dark and unfamiliar. The deeper he went, the more he felt watched—yet not in a scary way. It was as if the forest itself was aware of his presence. Then, the whispers began. They weren’t sounds in the air but thoughts in his mind. "Why are you here, child?" "Do you seek truth, or just a story?" Aryan paused, unsure if he was imagining things. “I want to understand,” he whispered back. “I want to know what you really are.” Just then, the trees parted to reveal a clearing. In the center stood a giant tree, far older and larger than the rest. Its bark was silver, and its leaves shimmered like emeralds. Aryan walked toward it, mesmerized. As he touched the bark, a sudden flash of light surrounded him. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the forest. He was in his village—but something was off. The fields were dry. People looked tired, hungry, and angry. Trash lay scattered. The river near the village was polluted and dying. Children no longer played, and laughter was rare. Confused, Aryan looked around. Was this the future? Then he heard the whisper again: “This is what becomes of a world that forgets to care.” Tears welled in Aryan’s eyes. “But how? Why would this happen?” The voice answered: “Greed. Laziness. Ignoring nature. Ignoring each other. The world thrives when there is kindness, respect, and responsibility.” The scene shifted again. This time, the village was full of life—clean rivers, green fields, smiling faces. People worked together, helped one another, and respected the land. Aryan asked, “Which one is real?” “Both are possible. The future is shaped by the choices made today. Your heart knows the right way—do you have the courage to follow it?” With that, the vision faded, and Aryan found himself sitting under the great tree again. The forest was quiet, but now, it felt warmer—as if it had shared a secret. Aryan stood up and made his way back. The compass pointed true, and his heart felt full. When he emerged from the forest, the sun was setting, and his worried parents were waiting near the edge. They ran to him, hugging him tightly. “I’m okay,” he smiled. “But we have work to do.” From that day on, Aryan became a voice of change. He rallied the villagers to clean the river, plant more trees, and take care of their environment. He encouraged kindness, taught children about respect, and reminded everyone that small actions create big ripples. People started listening. The village slowly transformed, becoming not only cleaner but more united. Aryan’s courage inspired others to believe that one person truly can make a difference. Years later, Aryan became a teacher and storyteller. He would sit under the village tree—now named The Whispering Tree—and tell children the tale of his journey into the forest. When asked if the forest truly whispered, he would smile and say, “Yes, but not with words. You just have to be quiet enough to hear with your heart.” -Moral of the Story: Real change begins within. When we act with kindness, courage, and responsibility, we not only shape our own lives but also the world around us. Even the smallest voice, when guided by truth, can echo through generations.
By VISHWANATHA2 years ago in Poets
The Igbo Princess Called Ada.
Ada, my princess with eyes so bright, you shine like stars in the darkest night. Your voice is soft, like morning rain, it washes away my deepest pain. Your laughter dances through the trees, it floats so light on the village breeze. With every step, you move with grace, a queenly charm upon your face. You wear your wrapper, red and gold, a story of beauty, strong and bold. Your smile brings peace to every land, your touch is gentle, like God’s own hand. From the streams of enugu to owerri's song, with you beside me, i belong. I will build a home with love so wide, for you, ada, to stand with pride. Let all the drums beat in delight, for you, my moon, my heart, my light. Ada, my love, my royal flame, forever i’ll whisper your sweet name.
By Chris Liberty 2 years ago in Poets
When The Rain Sang Love.
The rain began, a gentle hush, no need for shelter, no need to rush. She reached for him with laughing eyes, as thunder hummed across the skies. Barefoot in the puddled street, they moved where rhythm met heartbeat. No song but raindrops played above, the perfect sound for making love. Her dress clung close, the night grew wild, yet in his arms, she was a child, free and fearless, soft and strong, they danced like they'd been waiting long. Each twirl a promise, step a vow, no past or future, only now. The storm, a stage, the wind, their choir, their love alive with raw desire. And when the lightning kissed the ground, they kissed too, lost and newly found. In falling rain, they found their grace, two hearts, one dance, in one embrace.
By Chris Liberty 2 years ago in Poets
