Ekphrastic
Whispers Beneath the Sun
Whispers Beneath the Sun âA Gentle Tale of Letting Go and Growing Brighter â âThe field had always been hers. Not by deed or name, but by memory. She had come here as a child, skipping through tall grass and golden wheat, her laughter carried on the wind like song. It was where she had whispered her dreams to the sky and buried her first heartbreak beneath the old willow tree. â âNow, she stood still in the same field, the wind much quieter, the air thick with the scent of late summer. The sun, dipping low, cast long shadows that danced like ghosts of yesterday. She could feel them â all the versions of herself that had once passed through here. The girl who hoped. The girl who hurt. The one who healed. â âIn her hand, she held a single dandelion â white, soft, fragile. It had grown wild at her feet, a quiet survivor among the fading grasses. She smiled at it, gently cupping it like a secret. The world was louder now than it had ever been when she was young. But in this place, silence still hummed sweetly beneath the surface, just loud enough to hear what really mattered. â âShe closed her eyes and made no wish â not this time. Wishes had their place, and hers had been many. Some had come true. Some had drifted away. But now she no longer needed wishes to move forward. Just breath. Just steps. â âWith the softest exhale, she released the seeds into the wind. â âTiny white stars, they floated up, caught in the golden light, dancing higher and higher. She watched them until they disappeared, not sad, not afraid, just aware â that every release is both an ending and a beginning. â âOnce, she would have chased them. Now, she let them go. â âShe turned toward the path that led away from the field, a narrow trail barely visible between the tall grass. She had walked it many times before, but this time felt different. Not heavier, but more honest. Her heart was still full â not of regret, but of remembrance. Every step forward carried a story behind it. â âShe thought of him â the one she had met beneath the willow. How their hands had fit so easily together. How his laugh had made her feel like spring inside. And how, when the seasons changed, they hadnât known how to hold on. He had gone before the frost, leaving words unspoken and letters unread. â âThere had been tears, of course. Long nights curled into pillows, wondering what she lacked. But time, that gentle sculptor, had shaped her sorrow into something else. Not joy, exactly. Not quite peace. But understanding. â âShe had learned that some people are meant to be chapters, not endings. And that didnât make them any less beautiful. â âThe wind picked up slightly, tugging at the edges of her coat. She smiled again â half wistful, half real. The sun brushed her cheek like a kiss, and for a moment, she imagined it was him. Not haunting her, but wishing her well. â âBehind her, the seeds danced still â not seeds anymore, but beginnings in the making. â âAhead, the sky widened, painted in strokes of orange and lavender. The world was waiting. â âShe walked. â âNot with certainty, but with quiet courage. â âBecause there are moments in life when you do not need to know what comes next. You only need to trust that youâre ready for it. â âThe path bent slightly, curving toward a hill she had never climbed before. She looked back once â at the willow, at the field, at the place that had held her sorrow gently, like a friend â and then, with the kindest farewell, she whispered: âThank you.â â âThen she climbed. â âAt the top, she stood tall, the world below her stitched with rivers and roads, homes and hopes. The sun touched the horizon, setting not in sadness, but in promise. She opened her arms just slightly, as if to catch the light. â âSomewhere, far below, the last of the dandelion seeds settled into soil. â âAnd in time, they would grow. â âJust like her. â
By Muhammad Saad 4 months ago in Poets
The Power of Poetry: Words That Uplift and Inspire
The Power of Poetry: Words That Uplift and Inspire â âIn a quiet town nestled between hills and rivers, lived a young girl named Maya. She was known for being shy, the kind of person who listened more than she spoke. While other kids her age played noisy games or shared loud laughter, Maya found comfort in silenceâand in something many overlooked: poetry. â âIt began when she stumbled upon an old book in her grandmotherâs attic, filled with poems written in careful cursive handwriting. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed, but the words inside felt alive. The first poem she read ended with the line: "Even in darkness, light remembers the way." Something stirred in her. It was as if the poem had been written just for her. â âFrom that day on, Maya carried that book everywhere. She began writing her own poems tooâabout clouds, dreams, the sadness of losing a friend, and the joy of watching morning dew sparkle like tiny diamonds. She found that poetry helped her understand her own thoughts, even the ones that felt too big or complicated to say out loud. â âBut Maya wasnât the only one discovering the quiet strength of poetry. â âAcross town, Mr. Thompson, a retired teacher, had started hosting weekly poetry readings at the local library. What began as a small gathering of three people soon grew into a community event. Teenagers, parents, grandparentsâeven people whoâd never written a poem beforeâstarted attending. The space became a sanctuary for expression, where feelings that were often buried under busyness or fear were finally given voice. â âOne evening, Maya stood up to read a poem she had written titled âGrowing Quietly.â Her hands trembled as she approached the microphone. The room fell silent. Then, in a clear, steady voice, she read: â ââNot every flower blooms in spring, âSome take their time, in silent waiting. âBut when they do, the world will sing, âIn awe of quiet strength creating.â â âThere was a pause. Then came gentle applause, not just out of politeness, but from genuine admiration. People werenât clapping for a performanceâthey were celebrating honesty, vulnerability, and the beauty of words that heal. â âAfter the reading, an older woman approached Maya with tears in her eyes. âThat poem,â she said, âmade me feel seen. Iâve spent most of my life thinking I bloomed too late. Thank you for reminding me I still can.â â âThis is the quiet power of poetry. It does not shout. It doesnât demand attention. But it listens, reflects, and offers light in unexpected ways. â âPoetry isnât just for the pages of schoolbooks or dusty libraries. It lives in music lyrics, in journal scribbles, in bedtime rhymes, and even in social media captions. Itâs in the way we describe love, loss, joy, and fear. And for many people, like Maya, poetry becomes a way of understanding the worldâand themselves. â âStudies have even shown that reading and writing poetry can reduce stress, improve mood, and help people cope with emotional challenges. In classrooms, it teaches empathy. In therapy, it becomes a tool for healing. In prisons, it opens doors to self-reflection and growth. â âPoetry reminds us that our stories matter. It gives voice to the quiet, the unheard, and the overlooked. It turns pain into beauty and makes joy feel eternal. â âMaya continued writing, not for fame or recognition, but because poetry helped her stay connectedâto herself and to others. Eventually, she helped start a school poetry club where students from all backgrounds shared their words. Some wrote about their families, some about their fears, and some just wrote nonsense that made everyone laugh. But all of it mattered. â âYears later, Maya became a published poet. But even more than the books she wrote, she cherished the letters from readers saying her poems had helped them feel less alone. â âIn her own quiet way, Maya had become proof that poetryâsoft, simple, and powerfulâcan change lives. â â â--- â âPoetryâs Gentle Lesson â âWe live in a fast-paced world, where noise often drowns out meaning. But poetry invites us to slow down, to listen closely, and to find beauty in small things. Whether written in a journal, shared in a classroom, or spoken aloud in a cozy library, poetry is a reminder that words, when used with care and truth, have the power to uplift and inspire. â âSo the next time youâre unsure, overwhelmed, or simply searching for lightâpick up a poem. Or better yet, write one.
By Muhammad Saad 5 months ago in Poets
