Why do poets countless
write poems endless
imagining and reimagining
all that is already wrote?

We all attempt to
explain the unexplainable
and bridge
what we cannot cross.

Perhaps the only truth is that
we can never know it
and the only penance is
to never stop looking.

In the chasm between
what we know and
what we can’t,
live the artists.

“This is what keeps poets scribbling endlessly away. If one could pin it to paper all complete, the others would lay down their pens. But it cannot be done.” — Vashet in Wise Man’s Fear, Patrick Rothfuss

If you liked this, you might like:

Why do the goodbyes stand out?

P.S This piece was first drafted ~April 5, 2025

Endless poetry was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a straight face while emotion-ridden
(poised guise)
clouds hang tight-knit from the heavens
(grey skies)
separation, change, the end of an era
(moist eyes)
it's not the end; we’ll stay in touch
(white lies)

Poised guise,
Grey skies.
Moist eyes,
White lies.

If you liked this, you might like:

When She Comes Calling

Grey Skies, White Lies was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Oh won’t thee falter
falter just a touch?

(Is it much to ask
a tad too much?)
Show me there is
More to thee
And thine steely resolve
Than to stampede audacious
Through marches and
Marches of men

P.S I mean ‘men’ in the neutral sense, of course. Just adhering to the whimsy of Old English.

P.P.S This piece was written in 2020.

If you liked this, you might like:

When She Comes Calling

Falter just a touch was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There are moments, though.
Cracks in my composure
These are the moments
when I see what it has done to you
what I have done to us
what I had to do for you
what I had to do for me
but what I did nonetheless.

Many a song is sung,
verses with many parts
about and through
the pain of broken hearts.

Is it so unfair to say that
the pain of breaking a heart
breaks mine?
It must be,
and for the most part
be borne in silence.
But must be borne entire.

Watch me go on albeit
this weight on my neck I wear
but on my chest it will sit
for it is my cross to bear.

Feels like I’ve had more byes than hellos
In the light of memories made
the regrets cast a deep shadow
Why do the goodbyes stand out?

Easy words laden with the weight
of the years gone by
and the reckoning of the future
masks the pain of separation.

Change. The immutable
the inescapable, inevitable
infallible veteran of history
beautiful and equally terrible

Change is imminent, upon us
miles of ocean and land
and duty and life
will soon lie between us.

When I look back through the years
Reflection on a lake deathly still
I will fondly recall our time
in our home upon the hill.

So, here’s to another farewell
another wave, another shout
the question tugs at my heart
why do the goodbyes stand out?

Comfort in silence,
comfort in the dark
unseen and unspoken,
lurking in the deep.

A creature in fright,
afraid of sight,
troubled by its plight
is afraid of light.

Lurking in the deeps
where it hardly sleeps
it holds and repeats
dreams obsolete.

Yearning to fly
scared to die,
to even try
it lies and it lies.

But underneath it all
seams and all
in the heart of its halls
one look enthralls.

It is a creature of light
with features of white
made for the bright
and bursting with life.

A creature of light
made for the bright
given a chance, it might
leap, take flight.

But it finds solace in silence
and solace in sleep
unseen and frightened
it lurks in the deeps.

If you liked this, you might like:

Fated to Cross Paths. was it also fate that it wasn’t to last | by Siddharth Murali | Loose Words | Medium

A Creature of Light was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Why are we embarrassed by silence? What comfort do we find in all the noise? — Mitch Albom

Is it but a futile attempt at
drowning out
the voices in our heads
and the yearning of our hearts,
so weighed down by truth
that it threatens to undo
the intricate stitches
cast by a willing blindness?

If you liked this, you might like:

If I Had More Time. I’d Ask For More | by Siddharth Murali | Medium

It’s Quiet Loud in My Head was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The call to action,
strangely,
is the cause of my
inaction.

The necessity of motion
drives me to
stagnancy.

The very force
pushing me forward
holds me back

What is this resistance
I feel
yet cannot place?
Where from does it
arise,
unto what end,
what flaw is it
predicated on,
what fear does it
speak to?

The need to do,
strangely,
is my undoing.

If you liked this, you might like:

If I Had More Time

Undoing was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The city adorned,
overnight with pink blossoms;
the garden city.

When the veils of
childish dreams and fantasies
finally fall to reveal
the ugly, imperfect reality
and the impossibility of
idealism,
and escapism
no longer serves to
drown
the endless noise in my
mind
what do I cling to
to preserve my
sanity?

Veils-a-falling was originally published in Loose Words on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.