Poet Poems
He Never Sleeps
by Aryan Bhardwaj
They say he never sleeps,
Eyes wide, a steady gaze,
Not from the buzz of late-night thoughts,
But from the quiet pace of days.
Yet something lingers in his stillness,
A shadow wrapped in light,
A flicker of a restless mind,
Too quiet in the night.
......
The Banishment of the Poet
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Alien interpreters with long, grey beards
predicted the astonishments of the heavens.
Swallows migrate southwards
to the trial precincts of committed
visionaries – they swore dinosaurs
were here once.
A star shoots the length of
night sky in one long-tailed, silent trumpet of message.
Within eons of a blazing, returning
comet and epochs of swollen annihilations,
......
the endless thread
by Rikske Kessner
There is always a poem waiting—
an understudy, breathless in the wings,
shadowed by today’s centre stage,
its lines trembling, yearning to be heard.
This poem, however, holds its ground.
It stands, distinct as a fingerprint,
etched with the soul of its unwritten forbears—
the lived and the whispered, but never fully spoken.
......
Poet and poetry
by Aditi Hayaran
Maybe too complex to be defined by words,
Smiles so bright that hides the misery.
Maybe too deep to be understood,
An open book yet still a mystery.
Maybe the sentence unread by readers,
Always the poet, never the poetry.
-Aditi Hayaran (Larkspur)
not to the swift
by Rikske Kessner
They cling to the weight of their quill,
the tactile sensation, grounding them,
yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve,
urging them to adapt or be left behind.
Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books,
memories of applause, now distant echoes,
the poet's dilemma, a struggle within,
to honour tradition or embrace the new.
......
Poet and poetry
by Aditi Hayaran
Maybe too complex to be defined by words,
Smiles so bright that hides the misery.
Maybe too deep to be understood,
An open book yet still a mystery.
Maybe the sentence unread by readers,
Always the poet, never the poetry.
-Aditi Hayaran (Larkspur)
De dichter in mij
by Mario Odekerken
De dichter in mij
schreef woordelijk alles op.
Niet om te verklaren,
maar om te bewaren
wat anders verloren ging
in het geruis van de dag.
Hij ving stilte in zinnen,
adem in komma's,
wanhoop in witregels.
......
sword or pen?
by Rikske Kessner
When a poet takes up arms
their quill is orphaned quick
though the pen is mightier
the sword some bards will pick
however just the cause may be
forsake their weapon true
to lose what makes them free
sad the day when all is through
the endless thread
by Rikske Kessner
There is always a poem waiting—
an understudy, breathless in the wings,
shadowed by today’s centre stage,
its lines trembling, yearning to be heard.
This poem, however, holds its ground.
It stands, distinct as a fingerprint,
etched with the soul of its unwritten forbears—
the lived and the whispered, but never fully spoken.
......
He Never Sleeps
by Aryan Bhardwaj
They say he never sleeps,
Eyes wide, a steady gaze,
Not from the buzz of late-night thoughts,
But from the quiet pace of days.
Yet something lingers in his stillness,
A shadow wrapped in light,
A flicker of a restless mind,
Too quiet in the night.
......
