The warmth of a ballad that is you

Few hours are already gone

but the aroma of that one hour

in the morning today

brilliantly matches the feeling that you get

when you meet someone

who is prepossessing, with the eyes that sparkle perpetually

and the wise fragrance of the warmth

that starts with a generous hug

and sets the day

as a therapy in action

that beautiful heartful hour

when the city was flirting with half sun and half of patchy clouds,

was a kind of a poem

if one considers steaming breakfast and a animated chatter

with a loving human

as a complete verse

All of it, now that I recall

was like a spiritual serendipity,

a subtle mindfulness

something that I really wish

I can describe in these random lines

Soulful connections do not always happen randomly

there is this organic urge

to meet, confabulate

and ignite our worlds

with each others' presence

Your presence is a soothing tender balm

and as I take this deep breath and close my eyes

I imagine this day would perch in my mind

as a sunny bright day where the cool shade

was your being

Comments

Rise with you

When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm. Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky. In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget. Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love. And when the night descen...

Morning Walk

I was smitten by the silence of the dawn, or perhaps it was the dew that clung to the grass like a secret too fragile to speak. The trees stood tall, their leaves whispering stories of nights spent wrestling the wind, and I thought it was just me but the sparrow, too, carried the weight of its nest, the ant its crumb, the spider its web, each thread trembling with the burden of holding on. The sun rose, not with a fanfare, but with a quiet insistence, pushing through the haze like a hand reaching for a forgotten name. A butterfly brushed past, its wings a flicker of pale yellow against the orange sky, and I thought it was just me but the flower, too, had its petals to unfurl, its nectar to offer, its brief, bright moment in the sun. The path stretched ahead, winding through the shadows and the light, and I thought it was just me but the earth, too, had its cracks to mend, its roots to...

Hope

Hope is a green vine, climbing the walls of the forgotten, its tendrils reaching for the sun even in the hour of shadows. It does not ask permission— it grows, it persists, it wraps itself around the ruins and whispers, “Me Voici” Hope is the sea, vast and untamed, its salt on your lips, its rhythm in your chest. It does not sleep it rises, it falls, it carries you even when you cannot see the shore. Hope is the bread broken in the darkest hour, the warmth of shared hands, the taste of something that will not let you starve. It does not explain it feeds, it sustains, it says, Come, eat, there is enough for everyone. Hope is the bird that sings at the edge of dawn, its song a thread stitching the torn sky. It does not falter it calls, it rises, it reminds you that the night is not eternal. Hope is the hand you did not expect to hold yours, the voice that says your name when the silence is too loud. It does not abandon it stays, it breathes, it says, You are not alone...

Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

Search This Blog