Fourlinegraphia

15/05/2026

The Ways I Slip
***************
How many times have I slipped in life
Without even touching the ground?
As rainwater leaving the edge of a leaf,
I too have fallen without a sound.
***
Was it love that carried me away,
Or only the fear of being alone?
How easily the heart mistakes a passing shadow
For a place it can call home.
***
I have wandered from affection into attachment,
From attachment into dangerous fire,
Like a moth circling a fire lamp at midnight,
Knowing the flame still calling it higher.
***
Why does the soul grow restless
Even when the hands are full?
Why does the moon seem more beautiful
To the man standing inside darkness?
***
I have chased comforts beyond my reach,
Thinking happiness lived somewhere ahead,
As a thirsty traveler in a desert-
Running toward a mirage instead.
***
And debts gathered around me quietly,
Not only of money -
But of promises, mistakes, silences,
And words I should never have said.
***
Sometimes I slipped because of others,
A crowd laughing, a foolish night,
But isn’t a storm only dangerous
When something inside me is already weak enough to break?
***
I have fallen through pride like a king without a kingdom,
Through desire like waves losing themselves upon rocks,
Through loneliness like an abandoned house
Still waiting for footsteps at the door.
***
What is a human heart after all?
A river that never stays still.
Today calm as prayer,
Tomorrow deep enough to drown in.
***
Yet I have learned this much from falling:
No one becomes lost in a single moment.
A tree does not collapse with one wind;
It breaks slowly, fiber by fiber, unseen.
***
And perhaps life is nothing more
Than learning how fragile I truly am-
A small flame trembling before the universe,
Still trying to give light before the darkness arrives.
***
So when I slip again and perhaps I will-
May I fall like rain returning to earth,
Not in shame,
But with the wisdom of knowing
Even broken rivers eventually find the sea.
***
“If everything ended in a single moment”
thinking that, while sitting alone in emptiness,
as always, I may slowly slip again
into a deep abyss…
perhaps into another world
from which there is no returning.

https://4graphia-en.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-ways-i-slip.html

passionofpoetry

English poems Creative writing Short poems Emotional poetry

14/05/2026

The Spy with Black Lips
***********************
She moved like midnight through the crowd,
Silent as smoke beneath the rain;
A woman shaped from shadow and beauty,
With eyes that carried hidden pain.
***
She was like a red rose blooming
Soft beneath the silver moon,
Yet beauty is a subtle poison
That withers tender hearts too soon.
***
Men admired her graceful figure,
Her pale face and her raven hair;
None could sense the dangerous secrets
Breathing quietly beneath her stare.
***
Her black lips held forbidden stories
No mortal tongue could dare confess;
A smile could open guarded kingdoms
Or lead a lonely man to death.
***
The painters through forgotten ages
Might have framed her haunted grace-
A tragic girl beside dark curtains
With sorrow resting on her face.
***
By day she danced through halls of luxury
Among the wealthy, proud, and vain;
By night she vanished into alleys
Like whispered thunder before rain.
***
A red rose rested near her heartbeat,
Its petals darkened like her soul;
For every lie she softly uttered
Left another hidden hole.
***
Men became enthralled and helpless,
Drawn deeply by her poisoned charm;
They longed to cage her like a painting
Without suspecting hidden harm.
***
Yet beneath the mask of beauty
Lived a weary frightened girl
Who dreamed of freedom, love, and silence
Far away from the espionage world.
***
Sometimes before cracked mirrors
She touched her lips as black as night
And mourned the fading innocence
She had surrendered for survival’s fight.
***
Like a red rose touched by venom
She bloomed while slowly dying still;
The world desired her radiant beauty
But never cared to know her will.
***
And so her black lips told the story
No art critic could truly see-
That beauty forged into a weapon
Can destroy a soul completely.
***
For she was both the spy and victim,
The poison and the wounded rose;
A lonely woman wrapped in mystery
Whom nobody would ever know.

https://4graphia-en.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-spy-with-black-lips.html

13/05/2026

13/05/2026

The Amusement of Destiny
*** *** **** *** *** *** *** ***
Life blooms briefly like mist on darkened seas.
Who draws the line between our wars and peace?
We walk like kings on fate’s enormous board,
Yet hidden snakes still guard each shining sword.
***
“Can wisdom save mankind from grief and death?”
“No mind escapes fate’s slowly counting breath.”
We move through life like masters skilled in chess,
Through measured thought and disciplined finesse.
***
The bishops glide like swans through lakes of war,
The knights leap blind like storms from distant shores.
Our fragile pawns march onward row by row,
Like winter leaves beneath cold winds that blow.
***
Yet destiny still laughs behind the veil,
Checkmating every guarded dream and trail.
It rolls its dice through shadows cold and vast,
Deciding which bright moment fades too fast.
***
It throws bright ladders toward ambitious hands,
Then sends dark serpents coiling through our lands.
A single throw may raise a soul to skies,
The next may drown an empire once thought wise.
***
A beggar wakes and suddenly wears gold.
A mighty empire turns overnight cold.
A healthy man who praised the morning sun
Now counts his breaths when day is almost done.
***
Look there beneath pale hospital moonlight:
A cancer patient wrestles through the night.
His veins hold poison burning slow and deep,
Yet still his soul refuses deathlike sleep.
***
“Why beg for life while standing near the grave?”
“Because one dawn is worth all pain to save.”
His trembling hands still reach for vanished springs,
Like broken birds still dreaming they have wings.
***
Death watches softly from the edge of time,
Like silent snowfall covering a shrine.
Perhaps death is destiny’s lonely art,
A hidden hand that studies every heart.
***
Still humans love despite the nearing end.
Still strangers heal, forgive, protect, defend.
Though every king eventually must fall,
Hope teaches why we dare to play at all.
***
Life is a phenomenon strange and vast,
A fragile flame not meant forever last.
And destiny-both serpent, board, and sky-
Still wonders why we live before we die.

https://4graphia-en.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-amusement-of-destiny.html

passionofpoetry

English poems Creative writing Short poems Emotional poetry

12/05/2026

12/05/2026

The Architecture of Silence....................................................
There came a point in my life-
when the architecture within me changed...
I used to build my house out of echoes,
shouting into the canyons of other people’s hearts,
waiting for their voices to return
and tell me who I was.
I mistook the loudness of my grief
for the depth of its importance,
believing every wound needed a witness,
every silence needed explaining...
But after a certain limit,
something inside me grew still...
I stopped complaining,
not because nothing hurt anymore,
but because my heart grew tired
of repeating its sorrow
to ears that never truly listened.
The disappointments stayed for a while,
like rain fading on old windows,
yet slowly even pain began to lose its voice...
And so, the architecture changed...
The walls within me were no longer built
from bitterness
or the jagged glass of “why,Whose”
but from the soft grey mortar of enough.
I learned to sit alone in the room of myself
without turning on the lights
for a guest who was never coming...
There was a strange dignity in what I no longer said...
Like a river finally reaching the sea,
the rushing inside me stopped,
the endless churning quieted,
and my soul became a mirror.
I was not empty-never empty-
only full to the brim
with truths I no longer needed to explain...
I began to understand
that not every battle deserved my reaction,
not every absence deserved my mourning,
and not every silence needed to be broken.
My expectations loosened their grip,
my attachments grew lighter,
and peace entered quietly through my cracks-
not as a visitor,
but as something that had always belonged there...
Then one day,
without even noticing,
I became calm...
Not cold.
Not emotionless.
Only deeper, quieter, wiser...
And finally, my silence no longer felt like a void.
It became a language of its own-
the only language
that did not require a witness,
the only home
where my soul could rest
without needing to be understood.
**************Fourlinegraphia**********
https://4graphia-en.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-architecture-of-silence.html

12/05/2026

The Fire Beneath Thrones
(from My Soul forge Chronicle -Canto XVII )....................................................
They sat on thrones of polished lies,
With iron laws and veiled disguise.
Beneath their courts, a furnace churned,
With every cry the voiceless burned...
The soul beheld the crown's decay,
The gilded rot that paved the way.
A pact of power, pride, and blood-
Built on the flood, beneath the flood...
The kings and queens in jeweled despair,
Could scent rebellion in the air.
Yet feared not sword nor battle blade-
But truth, once seen, would not be swayed...
For underneath the golden seat,
Were buried bones and scorched deceit.
And in that heat, a reckoning grew,
The fire of what the many knew...
No tyranny can last unscarred,
When truth ignites the prison bars.
And even silence turns to flame,
When hearts remember whence they came...
So fell the throne in crimson ash,
No more to weigh, to wound, to lash.
The fire within, the fire below,
Burned falsehoods crowned in mortal glow.

Fourlinegraphia

11/05/2026

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1HRwTmJMPA/

11/05/2026

A Shelter Not of Blood
***********************
Beneath the bruised and bending sky,
A hatchling heard the night reply.
No answering wing, no shelter near,
Only the language born of fear.
The fields stretched vast with iron cold,
A wilderness too harsh, too old;
And in that dark unmothered land,
The small life trembled where it stood.
***
His cry was but a fragile thread,
A note the empty heavens shed.
The wind consumed it, thin and weak,
No loving beak returned to seek
The lonely spark left in the rain,
Half-formed in body, full of pain.
Too slight for flight, too worn for sound,
He curled against the bitter ground.
***
Then through the hush of sleeping trees,
There moved a shape with careful ease:
A mother dog, worn down by years,
With milk and sorrow at her breast.
Around her, drowsing puppies lay
Entwined within the scent of hay;
Yet still she heard the broken call
That rose beneath the night for all.
***
She came not as the hunter came,
Nor driven by the law of name.
No bond of feather, fur, or blood
Explained the mercy in her blood.
She only saw a starving fear,
A life too small to disappear;
And something ancient in her soul
Refused to leave the creature cold.
***
The hatchling shrank from tooth and paw,
For terror was the first law.
Yet in her eyes there burned no wild,
Only the patience given a child.
She bent and touched him with her nose-
A gesture soft as twilight’s close-
As though beneath the silent skies
She whispered, Live. You may survive.
***
She bore him gently to her den,
Among her sleeping young again.
No feathered breast above him spread,
No nesting wing above his head;
Yet warmth became a living wall,
And love itself enclosed them all.
Within the shelter of her breath,
The chick was hidden safe from death.
***
When storms unstitched the seams of night
And predators moved without light,
She stood before the fragile small,
A trembling fortress against all.
Her growl became a boundary stone,
Declaring he was not alone.
Though hunger hollowed out her frame,
She searched for food and still she came.
***
The puppies climbed across his feet,
Their breathing calm, their sleep complete.
And slowly, through the passing days,
The chick emerged from frightened haze.
He learned that kindness was not bound
To those by blood or likeness found.
That motherhood was not mere birth,
But love that gives another worth.
***
For what is mothering, if not this:
To guard a life against abyss?
To feed the weak before the strong,
To turn despair itself to song?
The dog knew nothing grand or wise,
No lofty truths beneath the skies;
Yet every act her body gave
Became the language that could save.
***
The chick would sleep beside her chest
And hear the deepness of her rest.
That steady rhythm, slow and near,
Untangled every root of fear.
And there he learned the holiest part:
A mother is a sheltering heart.
Not shape, nor species, bone, nor name-
But love that stays through hurt and shame.
***
At last there came a silver dawn
When childhood’s helplessness was gone.
The little wings once curled in dread
Rose strong and wide above his head.
He stepped beyond the field and tree,
Toward the unknown immensity;
Yet before greeting open sky,
He turned once more with quiet eyes.
***
The mother dog stood worn and still,
Watching him upon the hill.
No words were spoken, none were needed-
Some loves are far too deep for speech.
He bowed his head the way hearts do
When gratitude alone is true;
For though the sky would call him far,
Her love would be his guiding star.
***
And long after the seasons passed,
When memory was all that lasts,
He carried in his wandering soul
The warmth that once had made him whole.
For every place his wings would roam,
Beyond the fields, beyond the known,
He understood with certainty:
Her mercy had become his home.

English poems Creative writing Short poems Emotional poetry

11/05/2026

You Called Me Son
*******************
(Reads More: please visit my page and blog)
I was a house with shuttered rooms,
A field untouched by living hands.
I learned to breathe through hollow spaces
And carry silence like a second skin.
***
No voice had ever called me “son.”
No hand remained when sorrow entered.
I drifted through my early years
Like ash beneath a restless sky.
***
To live unseen is not true loneliness.
It is becoming absent within yourself,
A quiet fracture under the ribs,
A wound that learns how not to speak.
***
Then you arrived without thunder,
Without promises or demands.
You sat beside the ruin gently
As though broken things deserved company.
***
You never asked me to recover.
You never forced light into the dark.
You only stayed, calm and certain,
Until fear loosened its grip inside me.
***
Slowly, I began to change.
Your kindness moved through me
Like water returning to abandoned earth,
Like rain touching a season of drought.
***
You became the ground beneath my feet,
The river easing an ancient thirst,
The breath carried through mountain air,
The warmth inside a forgotten home.
***
Even when anger hardened my steps,
Even when I wounded what tried to hold me,
You remained-steady as soil-
Protecting the fragile life beneath.
***
You saw the child hidden under survival,
The trembling spirit beneath the armor.
You opened doors I had sealed for years
And treated my pain without judgment.
***
It frightened me to be understood.
To let another person witness
The abandoned corners of my mind
And still choose to remain there.
***
But your love asked for nothing.
It carried no punishment or pride.
It simply made space for my existence
Until I could finally believe in it too.
***
Now, when life becomes unbearably heavy,
I return to the mercy in your eyes.
There, I remember that gentleness
Can rebuild what despair once emptied.
***
Because motherhood is more than birth.
It is the act of truly seeing someone,
Of standing before emptiness
And refusing to call it worthless.
***
Before you, I lived without direction,
Unnamed even to myself.
Then you looked at me with love
And I finally became real.

https://4graphia-en.blogspot.com/2026/05/you-called-me-son.html

passionofpoetry

English poems Creative writing Short poems Emotional poetry

11/05/2026

The Teacher Within the Enemy
*******************************
Face every foe; they carve the wiser mind.
The harshest words reveal what we must heal.
A rival’s strength awakens sleeping fire.
Through pain and clash, the human spirit grows.
***
No wall can stand when truth begins to rise.
The world becomes what courage dares to learn.
See every wound as soil for greater light.
Let every fall prepare a stronger step.
***
The hand that strikes may teach the heart to wake.
The voice opposed may sharpen inner truth.
We meet ourselves in conflict’s burning glass.
The soul expands through trials deeply faced.
***
Do not curse storms that force the roots down deep.
Great trees are shaped by seasons fierce and cold.
The mountain path is carved by countless feet.
Endurance turns the weakest stone to strength.
***
One nation’s grief becomes the whole world’s grief.
One child in tears belongs to all mankind.
No border stops the hunger of the heart.
No race can own the sunlight or the rain.
***
The earth beneath our wars remains the same.
One sky still bends above divided lands.
The rivers never learn the names of states.
The oceans carry every life as one.
***
Let anger be transformed to conscious flame.
Let wisdom rise where hatred used to stand.
The greatest wars are fought within the self.
True victory begins when fear dissolves.
***
A mind awakened cannot live through hate.
A soul made clear no longer needs a throne.
The strongest human lifts the weak with care.
Compassion is the highest form of power.
***
So face the world with disciplined resolve.
Accept the lessons hidden inside pain.
For every enemy can shape the light
That leads humanity to higher ground.
https://4graphia-en.blogspot.com/2026/05/the-teacher-within-enemy.html

passionofpoetry