sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
“The Man Who Spoke in Rain”
The Man Who Spoke in Rain By [Ali Rehman] For as long as anyone could remember, whenever Elias felt something deeply — joy, sadness, anger, or fear — the skies above his small town would open up and rain would fall. Sometimes it was a gentle drizzle, a soft murmur of tears from the clouds. Other times, it was a wild storm that drenched everything in torrents, lightning crackling like his own fierce emotions unleashed.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Poets
“The Sky that Fell in Love with the Sea”
The Sky that Fell in Love with the Sea By [Ali Rehman] Every morning, as dawn crept slowly over the earth, the sky would awaken with a soft blush of pink and gold. It stretched endlessly, a vast canvas painted anew with every breath of the wind. Beneath it, the sea shimmered and swayed, its waves whispering songs of ancient mysteries and distant dreams.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Poets
“The River That Dreamed of Fire”
The River That Dreamed of Fire By [Ali Rehman] The river had always known one thing — reflection. It mirrored the mountains, the moon, the clouds, and the passing faces of travelers who crossed its bridges. Every ripple was a borrowed shape, every shimmer a borrowed light. It was calm, gentle, obedient to the pull of the earth. But beneath the soft song of its surface, the river felt something deeper — a longing.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Poets
“The Wind Forgot My Voice”
“The Wind Forgot My Voice” By [Ali rehman] The day my voice disappeared, the world grew unbearably quiet. It wasn’t the silence of peace — it was the silence of being unheard. I opened my mouth, and though I felt the shape of words forming, nothing came out. Not even a whisper. The doctor called it “psychogenic aphonia,” but what could medicine know of heartbreak carved from words that never reached their destination?
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Poets
She is,but just a memory
she is but just a memory not even words could explain it not even the mouth could utter words The mind was blank yet the heart was full The eyes had so much to tell,but had no voice not even the mind understood at that moment it was as though the emotions weren't invented from the brain It felt like the morning after the burial it felt like a part of her was left behind if only people had met the younger version of her They sure would have enjoyed her The happy her The active her The innocent her The child her The her that still hoped believed but the older she gets the more she forgets her younger self The older she gets,the more of a fading memory she becomes to her brain The older she gets,the more of a shell she becomes The older she gets,the more empty she becomes The older she gets,the more the light in her darken The older she gets...does she even know herself? but this is earth isn't it?
By Dimakatso Moeketsi3 months ago in Poets
