I wrote these lines for the one-line prompt – The birds on my grave. Writing this made me sad. A writer commented that it is “hauntingly beautiful.” I agree that there is a lingering ache in this poem that makes it beautiful. These lines are about all the things we leave behind when it’s time to be one with the earth and the skies! It’s the epitaph of the poet, the writer, and the silent warrior.

The birds on my grave
Are possessed by the poems
I never wrote down
And the myriad stories
Now buried with me;
The wildflowers flourishing
On my weathered tombstone
Carry the aroma of moments
Now lying in an ornate box
Tucked in with crocheted love
You can sense my presence
In the dance of butterflies;
The dragonflies sweep in
To touch my humble soul
That wonders what happened
To all the words, I left unsaid!

Many readers may know the symbolism of the dragonfly. It means looking within and indicates the light of a divine entity. To a warrior and fighter, a dragonfly represents agility, power, speed, victory, and courage. It also symbolizes rebirth, immortality, transformation, adaptation, and spiritual awakening.

So, in the end, the poem brings hope when the soul is touched by nature and in commune with the dragonflies.

After the storm

#FromOneLine #prompt 163

Verse for #FromOneLine #prompt 163 inspired by “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.” from the play Tje Mourning Bride by William Congrove.

After the storm
Her soul lay bare
A torrent of words
Gushed out in fury
Suppressed, repressed
Now phrases unruly
Unabashed, unashamed
She ripped the veils
Shattered, battered
Pretenses swept away
Silent rage, now a surge
All trauma, finally purged

All in the mind

#FromOneLine #prompt 158

In a cave of trees
In the unseen darkness
The crunch of leaves
Echo beneath heavy feet
Or resound with symphony
Revealing mind maps of
The soul that seeks;
Murmuring gusts unravel
Secrets of the forests
Beyond the twilight
Where demons lurk
In human fears deep
Or playful nymphs unfurl
Magical canopies green!


Undone mistakes,
Who ever heard
Such a misnomer!
There’s no turning back
From follies made
Flaws embraced
No entry erased
From the script of life
No joy in living so tame;
Heroism runs wild
Courting danger
Almost always in trouble
A spark, a glitter
In eyes that discover
The glamor in being
Incorrigibly mischevious!


My broken heart, an artifact
In a spectacular box intact
Lying in tarnished pieces
With crumbling petals of roses
A Babushka doll, now faded
Holding a ring, long discarded
Stale memories wrapped
In tissue paper yellowed
Bury them all with me
When my tired soul flees!

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