Follow your heart

Nor the fleeting charm of a familiar face.

It’s the wisdom to see, the strength to know,

That to truly be free, you must let yourself grow.

So let the stars be your silent guide,

Let the truth within you coincide.

For freedom is not just to flee—

It is to stand, unbroken, and simply be.

VINTAGE TEARS RUN DOWN THE WALLS

“There is a solemnity in decay, where time itself breathes heavier than silence, and every crack whispers secrets of the past. In Venice, I found a room that seemed to listen to its own sorrow.”

In the depth of a Venetian night,

Beneath the moon’s uncertain light,

A woman stands where shadows fall,

Her voice caught in an ancient hall.

The walls, adorned with vintage tears,

Bear witness to forgotten years.

Each faded fresco, each fractured stone,

Holds whispers of lives once brightly known.

Beneath the dust of chandeliers,

The room still aches with long-lost fears.

Velvet drapes in tatters cling,

Like ghosts that mourn but cannot sing.

She stands, a figure carved from strength,

Her voice stretched out to its full length.

“Listen,” she cries, “to the echo within,

For silence itself holds where dreams begin.”

A lace gown, crumpled on the floor,

Speaks of nights when love implored,

Yet now, its threads are bare and thin,

A testament to what had been.

Time’s relentless, unyielding tide,

Has robbed this room of all its pride.

The mirror cracks, its gilded frame,

Reflecting only time’s cruel claim.

Yet she, unbowed, unbroken, tall,

Faces the shadows that haunt this hall.

“Do you hear me?” she whispers loud,

“I am not buried beneath the shroud.

These walls may crumble, stone may crack,

But I am here, and I am back.

To speak of love, to speak of fire,

To breathe again, to rise, inspire.”

Her tears do not fall weak or frail,

They run like rivers through the veil.

Of time, of loss, of longing’s weight,

They forge a path, defying fate.

The villa weeps with her refrain,

Its vintage tears no longer vain.

Her voice unites the past with now,

To memories forgotten, she makes her vow.

“Hold my strength in these walls divine,

Let them remember what once was mine.

Not just a shadow, not just a trace,

But the life I lived, the dreams I chased.”

And as her words fill every space,

Venice itself seems to embrace,

The woman who dared to defy the years,

Turning silence to song, and pain to tears.

Vintage tears still run, but now,

They sing of love’s eternal vow.

A room reborn in echoes’ grace,

A timeless woman’s rightful place.

SUCH A FOOLISH CHILD

“We live within labyrinths of our own creation, blindfolded by the fears we nurture. This poem was born from a silent plea to shatter those walls and let the light pour in.”

They said life is but a fleeting moment,

A shadow that dances and fades with dawn.

Yet you, child, cling to the darkness,

Chained by fears you call your own.

You carry burdens unseen, unspoken,

Your satchel heavy with the weight of years.

Pain walks beside you, silent and ceaseless,

Fear whispers softly, fueling your tears.

Foolish child, so cruel, so lost,

Wandering through mazes of your mind.

Your soul, a prisoner of shallow mirrors,

Where love’s reflection you cannot find.

Blind though you see, you twist the truth,

Your thoughts, a web of veils and lies.

Peace is within your grasp, yet you shun it,

Pointing outward with reproachful eyes.

Drunk on dreams of freedom’s fire,

Yet you build your prison stone by stone.