When Love Was a Temple Whisper I walk like a pilgrim on a road where spring once stopped to pray,My hair is turning ash, the way evening melts into smoke. Childhood still rings inside me like thin glass in old corridors,Hunger-small fingers once counting stars instead of coins. Time ground my days like grain beneath […]
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The Day I Met My Own Younger Self. I watched him,
steady, like the sea beyond Kochi harbour that has swallowed tempests and returned to quiet.
Then it struck me with a softness that hurt:
I was looking at my own beginning. He was my younger self
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A Father’s Quiet Prayer On a Monsoon Night Dear Lord,I stand before You tonight, not as a perfect man,but as a father with trembling lovefor my son who still carries the soft scent of powderand the gentle glow of sunset on his shirt. Grant me strength, not loud, but enduring, Like roots that always hold
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You, The Tree of my Heart I cannot say why I bloomed like jasmine,On a dawn that smelled of honey and quiet rain.Nor why I reached for you,the way moonlight reaches a waiting windowwithout knowing it is longing. I do not know why flowers settled on me,soft as secrets whispered on your shoulder.Nor why your
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Pinkikutty’s Echo of a Silent Night One moon, one sister, and a silence too deep I called him Chetta, my sun after rain,The one who lifted me on his shoulders,So even sparrows looked small beneath my feet.His pockets smelled of jamoon fruit,His fingers tasted of roasted peanuts and sugar,And his laughter was the swing that
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She, Who Holds Me Always She walks into my life the way a soft breezeSettles on tired leaves after a long summer day,Not loud, not bright, not demanding,Just a calm presence that knows where I hurt. My fears, once cold like dawn-temple stone,She warms with a touch soft as jasmine in first light.In my darker
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When My Dawn Turns Quiet I feel the hours slowing now,Like a candle learning how to rest.The pain has softened into silence,And I know my breaths are growing fewer. Mom, I think of you first.You held me like a sunrise, even tonight.You once said, “If life hurts, lean on my heart,”And I did – every
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When Love Begins to Sing”
Love is a game two can play, and both rise like dawn and win,
a soft tune blooming in the heart, sweeter than a violin.
Love is composed of one tender soul, breathing in two warm bodies,
like moonlight pouring into mirrors, yet glowing as one story.
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When love is valued, it glows like a hidden lamp in a silent room,
spreading warmth, trust, and a gentle forever through every bond.
The Honey of my Heart. A poem on Love and Life
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