Emer Wrutes Arsh...

[emerwrutes]

Unspoken Hymn

She has no need for my tongue's small currency.

Not a story. Not a memory. Not even a name I'm allowed to fail at pronouncing.

She simply is — the way rain is, before anyone calls it weather.

I find her in the corner of every page I've ever left blank. The space between one breath and the next. The pause where a word might have landed but chose instead to hover.

My fingers try anyway. Stupid, loving fingers.

They weave her into lines she never asked for — warp and weft of syllables that will never hold her, but keep trying anyway. A loom that only knows how to make the same impossible shape.

I do not worship. Worship has altars and rules and names spoken in unison.

This is quieter.

This is the hum behind the hum. The ache behind the ache. The way light falls on a table where no one is sitting, but someone has just left.

She is the reason I still believe in holy things I cannot list.

And when you ask me — if you ask me — I will say nothing.

The poem is the only honest answer I own.

By EmerWrutes (Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

In that last, lingering moment,

Where breath and being cease to blend,

A spark was lit, a flame ignite,

For love, so long, she did defend.

With weary heart and tearful eyes,

She saw the truth, so clear and bright,

He'd loved her through his entire life,

A love, so pure, so out of sight.

She'd ignored him, like he was nothing,

A shadow, casting on her wall,

But in this last, final breath,

His love, she felt, above it all.

He, a constant, steadfast light,

Through storms and rain, he'd always stay,

Protecting her, with all his might,

Until the dawn, and light of day.

In this last breath, he whispered low,

A love so true, that will not fade,

"I love you, through this entire life,

And through all others, yet to be made."

A promise, made in love, so true,

To love and protect, through all his days,

In every breath, in every form,

To love her, and her heart, to raise.

In that last breath, a love so grand,

She finally saw, and understood,

The love she'd yearned for, all along,

Had always been, right where she stood.

A love so deep, so wide, so vast,

That transcended time, and space, and being,

A love so true, that was not based on anything,

But simply loving her, through everything.

With weary heart and joyful eyes,

She knew, that even in the end,

His love would live on, and forevermore,

For him, and her, that love will never end.

By EmerWrutes (Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

At last, I’ve touched something that had my name on it—

not to keep, just to borrow for a breath.

The way a doorstep holds the shape of someone who never lived there.

To be waited for. To be tended like a small fire someone refused to let die.

That warmth doesn’t need language. It already lives under the skin, quiet and humming.

But anything this soft grows teeth of its own.

The moment you cup it close, you feel it starting to slip—

beautiful things are always halfway out the door.

By EmerWrutes

[emerwrutes]

He who harvests the essence of mortal flesh—

ARK, a blight upon the Divine's name.

A self-forged, unconquerable god;

His fury sows dread in the hearts of both celestials and abyss-born.

He is no mere deity—

He is the Supreme Emperor of all gods, clad in human sinew.

His killing intent: a cataclysm that unmakes the very core of heaven and hell.

By EmerWrutes

[emerwrutes]

"The Quiet Math of Her"

When she finally understands that feeling —

the one that knots your chest like a fistful of rain —

she’ll measure it against herself,

and find it weightless.

Because what you feel is just a shadow

cast by the fact of her.

A candle flickering in the room where she stands as the sun.

You don’t feel for her.

You are into her —

not falling, not diving,

but simply stepping inside her gravity

like it’s the first breath you were always meant to take.

She will compare your devotion to the ocean,

to fire, to every love song ever written.

And then she’ll realize:

those are just words.

You are the silence after them.

So let her think the feeling is small.

You already know —

it was never about the feeling.

It was about her.

And you, quietly, completely,

into her.

By Emer Wrutes (Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

I’m lost in love, completely undone,

just say the word—I’d give up everything I’ve ever been.

This heart speaks only in echoes of yours,

what we share isn’t a deal, it’s something deeper than wanting more.

Why would I ever ask you for my life,

when you already breathe through every beat inside?

This life itself feels like devotion, like falling endlessly—

and maybe this is what love truly means… finally.

By EmerWrutes (A.k.A. Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

Twenty thousand years have passed beneath the silent heavens.

I have watched empires rise like morning mist and vanish before the setting sun. Mountains I once meditated upon have long since crumbled into dust, and rivers have changed their course a thousand times.

In the beginning, I believed the Dao would reveal everything. I pursued it with unwavering will—cultivating through endless nights, studying forgotten scriptures, listening to the whispers of heaven and earth. My cultivation grew deeper, my understanding wider, and mortals began to call me immortal.

Yet as the centuries slipped away, I came to see that nothing is truly beautiful, and nothing is truly wrong. All things simply exist, flowing with the Dao like leaves drifting upon an endless river of time.

The more I learned, the more I understood a cruel truth—knowledge only reveals the vastness of what we do not know. Even after twenty thousand years of walking this path, I still feel like a blind traveler searching for meaning in an endless night.

My power may shake the heavens, my name may echo through ages, but my heart remains strangely hollow.

For somewhere along this endless path of cultivation, while chasing eternity and enlightenment…

I lost something far more precious.

Perhaps the Dao I have been seeking was never hidden in the stars or ancient scriptures.

Perhaps it was something simple I overlooked long ago—

the warmth of another soul beside me,

the fleeting beauty of a shared moment,

and the gentle touch of a love that time itself could never erase.

[emerwrutes]

She: Aru… are you in love?

He: No. Why?

She: Your eyes are telling everything, my dear.

He: 😅 What? My eyes? Since when did you become an expert in reading eyes?

She: The day we met. The day I lost myself in you… unconditionally.

He: Wait—are you proposing to me, Samra?

She: Don’t come closer. And no, that’s not what I mean. Now move.

He: What? Hey!

She: Tell me… will our relationship just become another chapter in your life? Another story you’ll forget?

He: No, tubelight. Why would you even think that?

She: I don’t know…

And she left. Not with a slam, but with a silence that screamed. He stood there, watching her fade into the crowd, her words echoing in his chest like a unanswered song.

---

Days passed. The city felt heavier. He replayed that moment a thousand times—her trembling voice, her wet eyes, the way she didn’t look back. And then it hit him. It wasn’t a question she asked. It was a fear she confessed.

So he found her. Not with words. Not with gifts. Just… presence.

She was sitting by the old café where they first met, staring at the rain.

He sat beside her, silent. After a long while, he spoke.

He: You know why my eyes gave me away that day?

She didn’t answer.

He: Because they only know one language. And that language is you.

She turned slowly.

He: I’m not good with words, Samra. But my eyes… they’ve never lied. They saw you that day, and they decided—this is it. This is home.

She: Then why didn’t you say anything?

He: Because I was scared too. Scared that if I spoke, I’d ruin the magic. But I realised… letting you walk away ruined it more.

She: Aru…

He: I’m not looking for another story. I’m looking for my forever. And if you’ll let me… I want it to be with you.

She looked into his eyes—those eyes that once gave him away. And this time, they weren’t just telling. They were promising.

She smiled through unshed tears.

She: You really are a tubelight, you know that?

He: Yeah. But I light up only for you.

And in the middle of the rain, under the grey sky that felt suddenly golden, two hearts that almost lost each other found their way back—not with perfection, but with honesty. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet certainty.

Because love, real love, doesn’t need loud words. It just needs two people brave enough to stay.

And they did.

Forever.

[emerwrutes]

---

I want to draw her.

I want to take this charcoal, this dust of the earth, and give her form. I want to mix these oils, these colors born from stone and seed, and make her live. But my hand trembles, for it knows its own limits. These are not my powers. They are merely mine.

She is Divine.

How can a flickering candle hope to paint the sunrise? How can a single note from my flute capture the symphony of the cosmos? With this clumsy hand, this mortal skill, I try to trace the memory of her in the air. In this lifetime, and in the countless births I feel I have wandered before, I have been searching for her. She is not like the village girls, whom one can meet, court, and wed. To find her would be like finding the source of the wind.

I am a mortal man, and she is Divine.

When I am alone, the silence is too loud. I walk to the stable and lean my forehead against the warm, solid neck of my horse. He is the only one who listens without thinking me a madman. "You see that star?" I whisper to him, my breath misting in the cold air. "The one that burns with a steady, silver light? She is like that. Untouchable. Perfect." He swishes his tail, and I know he feels the sadness in my voice.

My heart, my body, my soul—they are no longer my own. They are a temple, and she is the deity enshrined within. My every breath is a prayer to her. The beat of my heart is the temple drum. My very flesh is the offering.

And in my quieter moments, when the wind carries the scent of the wet earth and the pine forests, I am consumed by the questions.

Does she know I love her?

When I walk through the woods and that fragrance of nature—the damp moss, the sun-warmed bark, the wildflowers—envelops me, my heart does not just beat. It leaps. It pounds against my ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape. My veins flood with a warmth that has nothing to do with the sun. It is her fragrance. Is it only a memory I am smelling, or is it a whisper from her? A sign? And if she feels me in that moment, does her celestial heart beat a little faster? Does a warmth, unknown to the gods, flow through her ethereal veins?

Is she mine, in the way I am utterly hers?

The question haunts my days and echoes in my sleepless nights.

I am a mere human. I till the soil. I speak to my horse. My world is small, bounded by these hills and this sky. She is Divine. Her world is the infinite.

Is it possible? Can a Goddess truly love a mortal? Or is my love destined to be a river that flows into the desert, forever vanishing, never to be held?

Is my love story, the only story my soul has ever wanted to tell, simply... one-sided?

The night does not answer. The stars, her kin, are silent. And I am left with my love, a divine fire burning in a mortal heart, waiting for a warmth it may never feel in return.

By Emer Wrutes (a.k.a. Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

---

I want to draw her.

I want to take this charcoal, this dust of the earth, and give her form. I want to mix these oils, these colors born from stone and seed, and make her live. But my hand trembles, for it knows its own limits. These are not my powers. They are merely mine.

She is Divine.

How can a flickering candle hope to paint the sunrise? How can a single note from my flute capture the symphony of the cosmos? With this clumsy hand, this mortal skill, I try to trace the memory of her in the air. In this lifetime, and in the countless births I feel I have wandered before, I have been searching for her. She is not like the village girls, whom one can meet, court, and wed. To find her would be like finding the source of the wind.

I am a mortal man, and she is Divine.

When I am alone, the silence is too loud. I walk to the stable and lean my forehead against the warm, solid neck of my horse. He is the only one who listens without thinking me a madman. "You see that star?" I whisper to him, my breath misting in the cold air. "The one that burns with a steady, silver light? She is like that. Untouchable. Perfect." He swishes his tail, and I know he feels the sadness in my voice.

My heart, my body, my soul—they are no longer my own. They are a temple, and she is the deity enshrined within. My every breath is a prayer to her. The beat of my heart is the temple drum. My very flesh is the offering.

And in my quieter moments, when the wind carries the scent of the wet earth and the pine forests, I am consumed by the questions.

Does she know I love her?

When I walk through the woods and that fragrance of nature—the damp moss, the sun-warmed bark, the wildflowers—envelops me, my heart does not just beat. It leaps. It pounds against my ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape. My veins flood with a warmth that has nothing to do with the sun. It is her fragrance. Is it only a memory I am smelling, or is it a whisper from her? A sign? And if she feels me in that moment, does her celestial heart beat a little faster? Does a warmth, unknown to the gods, flow through her ethereal veins?

Is my love story, the only story my soul has ever wanted to tell, simply... one-sided?

Is she mine, in the way I am utterly hers?

The question haunts my days and echoes in my sleepless nights.

I am a mere human. I till the soil. I speak to my horse. My world is small, bounded by these hills and this sky. She is Divine. Her world is the infinite.

Is it possible? Can a Goddess truly love a mortal? Or is my love destined to be a river that flows into the desert, forever vanishing, never to be held?

The night does not answer. The stars, her kin, are silent. And I am left with my love, a divine fire burning in a mortal heart, waiting for a warmth it may never feel in return.

By EmerWrutes (A.k.a. Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

[emerwrutes]

That day—

when Death leans in to claim me,

and a cold wind kisses what was once my face—

My soul will not go gently.

It will tear itself from this fading flesh

and stand at the threshold, refusing to cross,

searching the crowd for one face only.

Yours.

Before they wrap me in white.

Before the pyre is built, before the flames climb hungry toward the sky.

Before my name becomes a memory whispered in prayers.

Or—

One breath before my chest forgets how to rise.

One moment before the light behind my eyes burns out.

One single, trembling second where I am still here,

still warm,

still yours.

Will you come?

Not for ritual. Not for mercy.

For me.

Just your hand upon mine—

not to say goodbye,

but to find me.

To call me home.

To press salvation into dying skin

with the weight of all the touches we never dared.

Let the fire wait.

Let the river wait.

Let heaven wait.

Just let you come.

One touch.

One touch, and my soul will break free

not because it must—

but because you held it,

and now it knows how to let go.

Will you come?

Before I am ash.

Before I am memory.

Before this body forgets

it once belonged to your love.

Will you come?

By EmerWrutes (A.k.a. Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

हे महादेव, मैं हारा हुआ सा लड़का

तेरी शरण में आया हूँ।

मुझे रोशनी का एक किनारा दिखाओ

कि खो गया हूँ अंधेरे में, हे महादेवा।

हर तरफ, हर जगह तू ही समाया है,

मेरी तड़प भी तुझसे छुपी नहीं।

मदद करो, महादेव, कि

मैं तेरे कदमों में आया हूँ,

जैसे कोई बच्चा माँ के पास आए।

दिशाहीन हूँ, भटक रहा हूँ राहों में,

तेरे बिना जीवन सूना सा है।

फिर भी तेरा नाम लेता हूँ,

तेरी शक्ति पुकारता हूँ,

हे प्रभु, तू ही मेरा सहारा बन जा।

ज्योति जला दे मेरे अंदर,

भक्ति का दीप जला दे।

तू ही मेरा पथ, तू ही मेरा सत्य है,

मुझे अपनी छाया में समा ले।

हे महादेव, मैं तेरे द्वार पर खड़ा हूँ,

निराशा के सागर में डूबा हुआ।

बस एक इशारा कर दे,

मुझे रोशनी दिखा दे,

फिर इस जीवन को तुझ पर समर्पित कर दूं।

तू आशा का सूरज, तू अंधेरे का अंत,

तेरे सिवा कौन सुनें मेरी पुकार?

मैं तेरे चरणों में झुका हूँ,

मुझे सही मार्ग दिखा, हे कर्पूरगौर,

मेरी आत्मा को कर दे प्रकाशमय।

हे महादेव तेरी शरण में आया

By Emer Wrutes (Arsh)

[emerwrutes]

My Dairy

12 December 2013

***

lost in the abyss

darkness swallows me whole

but her memories

they never fade

burn in this heart

i'm done

but not undone

tired to the bone

still breathing

it's the fact

i lost it all

that heart

that light

never be the same

fate twisted in june

that month

i lost her

lost myself

shattered

after that

i just go

like a flow

no direction

nothing to remember

nothing to find

sara

gone

memories claw at me

every night

every silence

heart won't let go

bleeds her name

done fighting

but the pain drags on

abyss deeper

darkness thicker

i flow

empty

lost

never the same

june broke me

sara took the pieces

left me hollow

flowing nowhere

memories screaming

but she's nowhere

lost it

lost her

lost me

bleeding still

endless

faded but not gone

done but undone

abyss calls

i answer

nothing left

sara

[emerwrutes]

Non Artistic Conception .... Raw Draft

oh god i go away from you lost in the abyss sinking deeper not saying i lost sara like i lost everything but this heart it's ripped open she's always with me in every breath every empty room but she's nowhere gone vanished i'm used to living like this day after day night after night bleeding slow a lover forgotten you never look at anymore never touch never hold the wound festers no one sees no one cares i bleed alone heart torn empty chest she haunts me but she's not here never was god why why this pain endless i fall further abyss swallows me no light no her just blood dripping forever

***

[emerwrutes]

Perhaps it is not stalking, but witnessing.

It is the strange and quiet fate of a star that burns only to light the sky for another. My soul screams, but the sound is the silent, expanding echo of a birth—the birth of a universe where she is the only inhabited world.

She was lost. I know this in the deep marrow of my borrowed bones. And then she found it—her fragment of love, her own warm constellation of family. She built a hearth in the wilderness, and the light from its windows is the most beautiful thing I have ever known.

And I? I live in the liminal space. A contract written in twilight, signed with a breath and held with a whisper. I am not fully of life, for my purpose is singular. I am not fully of death, for I must see her safe. I live for her, but not as a chain. As a shield. As the unseen orbit that steadies her planet.

This is not mere affection. It is the self-love of the last drop of water that evaporates to become the cloud that shades her from the scorching sun. It is the love of the root that breaks itself against stone so the flower may find a crack of light.

That momentary feeling, that glimpse from a last birth… it was not a beginning, but a remembering. A recognition so profound it became a vow. I saw her and my soul said: Oh. It’s you. Again.

So I watch. Not to possess, but to protect. Not to interrupt, but to ensure the music of her life plays on, sweet and undisturbed. My existence is the quiet margin around the text of her story. The blank space that makes the poem legible.

Her happiness is my sky. Her peace, my only climate. I am the silent gravity in her garden, holding everything gently in place. And in this sacred, lonely vigil—this contract between a sigh and a memory—I have found the most beautiful purpose: to love, completely, from the beautiful and terrible distance of a star loving its flower.

By Emer Wrutes

[emerwrutes]

Wo Kahani Jo Khatam Nahi Hui

​Duniya kehti hai wo sirf ek khwaab tha,

Magar mere liye wo ek mukammal jahan tha.

Log kehte hain panna palat do, kahani khatam hui,

Magar meri nazar toh us 'The End' ke baad bhi wahin ruki rahi.

​Bachpan mein jin kirdaron ka hath pakad kar chalna sikha,

Aaj bhi unhi ke kandhon par sar rakh kar rota hoon.

Logon ko sirf unka bichhadna dikhta hai,

Mujhe maut ke us paar, unka phir se judna dikhta hai.

​Main wahan kyu kho jata hoon?

Shayad isliye, kyunki ye asli duniya itni "asli" nahi lagti.

Yahan log milte hain toh bichhadne ke liye,

Wahan main bichhde huon ko phir se milate hue dekhta hoon.

​Wo khwaab nahi, wo meri panah hai...

Jahan har adhura kirdar, mujh mein apni puri kahani dhoondta hai.

By Arsh (Emer Wrutes)