In the desert of the heart, so dry,
Where echoes of the past still cry,
Let the healing fountain start,
A wellspring deep within the heart.
Beneath the sands of time and pain,
Where love once flowed but left a stain,
Let waters pure and gentle rise,
To soothe the soul and clear the skies.
The sun may burn with ruthless glare,
And winds may whip the empty air,
But in the heart, a quiet stream,
Can turn the barren into a dream.
Each drop, a balm for wounds long past,
Each ripple, a peace that will last.
In this oasis, small and true,
A tender hope begins to brew.
So let the fountain’s waters flow,
And watch the desert start to grow.
In every corner, life will sprout,
And with it, joy will come about.
For in the heart, where thirst is deep,
The healing waters gently seep.
And from this source, a garden bright,
Will bloom within, pure and light.
About the Creator
Arbab Haider
As an author, I am captivated by the human experience, diving deep into the complexities of relationships and the emotions that define our lives. My writing journey began with a simple desire to tell stories that resonate with readers.
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1:49am
4/16/25 1:49am I want to breathe death in my larynx and feel loose change in the torn and raggedy pockets of my mother’s cardigan. The water is next to the bed. It’s not cold and never will be. So I guess what’s left is us; we will walk with crooked feet on a path carved by ancient societies. You will borrow my shoes. I will taste vengeance in my tea and convince myself it’s good for my liver. Coffee is fine too. Yes, that’s all. I will think about how I want to kiss you and, the clouds, they will rise to space, and leaves, they will glue their limbs back together. The sun has been out for weeks. This screw isn’t any looser than when I bought it. But I will wake up and I will be in the ship that splits in two and slide my sullen palms across its tundric pillow. I never took swimming lessons so whatever happens is meant to be. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m sorry I said that. Anyway, I want to lie nude in wildflowers with ants who build colonies and worms who can’t see. You have a problem with textures. You can’t help it. I could try to tell you things, like how I want my children to understand how little everything is and to not be afraid of the giant fingers that grab at sewing needles in their dreams. I could say it always scared me. It’s just not right. But listen, back to it: I want to indulge in passion and binge affection. Is it a sin if it helps? I will endure the things I am given and inculcate everyone around me to do the same. Do five laps around the block before you respond, whatever helps. I will tell you I want harmony to be palpable and wheels of recognition to be locked in an imperishable gear. Refill the pot if it’s empty. What I want has nothing to do with me. Diagonal tile is cold, you know, and my hair gets crunchy after too long out there. I want this lesson to end.
By Olivia Dodge6 days ago in Poets
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