Her Presence

She holds a whimsical grace,

a smile, soft and defiant,

lingering even in sorrow,

as if she knows all that is denied—

the wisdom of unspoken heartaches.

I see now that I should have revered her sooner,

for she is more than this world,

a figure almost divine.

If there were a final language in heaven,

it would be hers, whispered and all-knowing.

Each Sunday grows heavier with despair,

each week brings a fresh taste of bitterness.

Yet I am bound to her,

drawn to the affliction she embodies,

as if I am intoxicated by her very essence.

I’ve always carried rough edges,

those unpolished parts, untouched and raw.

Yet in her presence, I find solace—

she is my sanctuary,

a place where my world shifts and becomes something new.

Alone with her, paradise feels near,

as if I am poised on the edge of something more than love.

I bring to her my most unrefined self,

trusting she will take me as I am,

imperfect and uncut,

perhaps to be honed in her hands.

Her divinity lies beyond beauty—

it is in the power she holds,

bending my reality, reshaping my very being.

She is muse and goddess,

captivating in ways both profound and consuming.

To me, she is not just a lover;

she is a sacred rite,

an all-encompassing truth,

a glimpse of the divine, more than I have ever known.

@shikharpath

The Silent Distance

It is at times, in the midst of silences between words and gazes, that I find myself drawn to the faces around me—whether they be mere passersby, casual acquaintances, or those who brush past in the final, fading seconds of a moment. To me, they seem achingly close, as if our souls are bound by some unseen thread. Each face, each pair of eyes, holds a story I yearn to know, a journey I long to share. And, almost impossibly, a tender longing rises within me—a wish that they might have all that the universe could grant: peace, joy, and the comfort of belonging.

I ache to be part of their odyssey, to lift some hidden burden, to offer something that might ease their path. Within them, I glimpse fragments of myself—moments of joy, of suffering, of quiet resilience. I want to reach out, to connect, to marvel at the wonder of their becoming.

Yet, even as my heart extends towards them, I find myself inhabiting a place of separateness, a place that renders me a mere observer. I am an observer at a distance, removed from their world. A space still lingers between us, as though I exist in a different hue, as though I am a stranger in their sphere. They carry on in their movements, in their laughter and conversation, under a light that feels both intimate and remote. And I, here, remain caught in a quiet void they neither see nor wish to see.

It is as if I belong to another form of humanity—a shape that is apparent yet tantalisingly elusive, something perhaps felt but never fully grasped. I exist among them, within their space, yet in close opposition to their beings. My heart reaches, yet my body remains a stillness within me. They do not know me, these strangers whose stories and lives I hold in quiet reverence, this involuntary tenderness hidden within. And I wonder, across this vast expanse of existence we share, is it possible that they, too, feel this strange longing—a need to belong, to be seen, to be connected, to be, somehow, a ‘we’?