Short Poems That Are Deep Novels & Stories

Me I am also tattered Shattered Am I No it’s just a bad in dream What I get Is living life Like a different being Dirt makes me look clean Cleaner than many In life’s stream But I will repair self And also mend Parts of my shell Come celebrate this day With me Sounds silly It’s strange life ways We don’t know When we are meant For another weep So smile this day With me I again repeat Come orange mangoes Come bananas kiwi Come let’s eat with me I share food For not in food But in your human life I more believe I have little more money I will give what I hold I am at top today within Just a smile away From destiny Don’t break my day Let me too smile From within My way Enjoy sun rise again What

He was a part of that softness. He didn’t overwhelm her with constant texts or cling to her attention like oxygen. There were no needy expectations or demands masked as affection. Instead, he offered a rhythm that spoke volumes in its simplicity. A quiet “Good morning.” A Rupi Kaur poem—short, aching, and beautiful. A video of a toddler dancing barefoot in a puddle, giggling wildly, captioned: “I hope your day is as soft as this.” That message had clutched something deep inside her chest and held it gently.

She stayed a long time. The lamp burning on the wall. The territory around her. Silent in the deep cold. Lit from within. All the windows. All the people. All the work. The record growing. The formation traveling. The roots deepening. The water still. Rising still. Always. Through the cold. Through the dark. Through the deepest winter. Still rising. Because living things rose. Because the roots were real. Because the work was right. Because the people were here. Because the room was here. Because the lamp was here. Small. Real. Enough.

She asks, lost in his eyes, lost in the soft sensation of his touch. "I'm scared of an ending Even a happy one. I never finish a sentence Cause I fear you will not be there to answer. I never end a thought Cause I fear you will not be in the next one. I never feared death Cuse I thought I am imortal. But you, my love Are poison for the Gods." He whispers the poem in her ear like the rest of the world is not supposed to hear the words, like the wind is not supposed to carry them anywhere else. They are just for her.

"Writing poetry has been a source of solace and inspiration for me. Today, I'd like to share a poem I wrote, inspired by moments of reflection and the beauty of. . . Love.” Taking a moment to centre himself, Ryan begins to recite, his voice carrying the rhythm and cadence of his verses: "Not my acrostic smudges; Darkness is running towards me. I am running away from me. A universe is so huge. In just depths of my eyes, The universe is Too vast to fit. I am Asking myself;