#poetry corner

[bluesngrays]

Nobody, but you can save yourself.

[clumsyjinn]

You Were Never Mine

You were never mine, and perhaps that is why I never learned how to lose you.

You were just a boy from a chapter I thought I had closed— a familiar face between school bells, a name that once made ordinary days feel a little less ordinary.

Then life happened.

You left for a city I could only imagine, and I stayed behind with memories I thought time would eventually erase.

Years passed.

And one day, I reached out—not knowing why, not knowing what I was hoping to find.

Until one completely ordinary day, you appeared again, out of nowhere.

You remembered me.

Not just me— the name you had once given me.

You probably said it casually, as though it meant nothing.

But you don’t know how a single forgotten nickname can become an entire universe to someone who has missed you.

For a moment, I wondered if perhaps I had stayed somewhere in your memory the way you had stayed in mine.

And then you disappeared again.

No ending. No explanation. Just distance returning to where it had always belonged.

But you stayed.

Not beside me— never that.

You stayed in the quiet places: in songs I can’t listen to casually, in memories that arrive without warning, in the strange ache of wondering where you are and whether you ever wonder about me.

I never told you.

Maybe I was afraid that saying it aloud would make something beautiful feel small.

So I kept loving you in the only way I knew how— silently, from a distance, asking nothing from you.

And perhaps you will never know that there was someone who remembered your voice, your little nickname, the boy you were before the world changed you.

Someone who still misses you on ordinary days for no particular reason.

Someone who sometimes wonders what would have happened if life had given us one more conversation.

You were never mine.

But somehow, you became a part of me that I never learned to let go of.

And maybe that’s all this love was ever meant to be—

not a story we lived, but a story I quietly carried alone.

[bypaulamichelle]

Logic Fails

Poem by Paula Puddephatt

[bypaulamichelle]

Almost Safe: Archives, Poetry

Poem from the archives

short poem

[bypaulamichelle]

All Over Again: Poem

Poem from my archives

[lanabyrinth]

i keep learning the same lesson through different times. i see footsteps in the rain and have yet to see someone not only leaving a place, but also arriving somewhere else. i see leaves falling from a tree but i am yet to realize they dance their way down. i see an elderly woman but i am yet to understand she used to be young, younger than me.

i see endings, i see endings in the middle and even in the beginning.

i see the sunset without realizing the sun is shining even then.

i see the shards but i don’t think about the structure it once held.

i see dried petals before the plant even sprouted.

maybe that‘s why life places so many endings onto my path. maybe the only way to appreciate a beginning is to come to peace with the end.

[toomagazineperfection]

The poets of Kannada in the world of middle Sunday. The wake of sight, in the sun or sky of war Monday.

In the love Monday.

In the war subdivision of love or time of second lover, in nation or war, one is a nationalist or a murderer.

The wake of sway, swayamsevak thistle of nadé, in the poet of making war, is a dictator duct, of famous bad.

The mingling of Tenerife, in the school of Bangalore contemporary poetic strife, is the zeal of blue woman's eye.

The day one borrows, the literal title of war sensation, he is war dictator.

The making of telling, in the cinema, of China's, Chicago or making in Zealand Zalam.

Alam of material, is alma of killing.

Guilt is the show of shame. Horror is the day of night.

Glory is a leader of dictum, whose state in the form of thought, is love and freedom of God in people.

O.

I.

The articulation day of life, in shumaar of Hampi, is a king done of bravery, or is the start of nation?

Titanic Heroine 1

Sunidhi