I. Past
Because the past exists, I may return—
not as a ghost, but ember's afterglow,
a flame that learns, in mirrored light, to burn
backward through all I used to know.
II. Future
Because the future waits, I hear its tide—
not as a threat, but as an unborn song
that hums in shells no waves have yet supplied,
still drawing forth the lines where dreams belong.
III. Present
But here—ah, here!—the miracle takes hold:
where fingers press the pulse of fleeting now,
where ink births worlds before the page turns cold,
where past and future meet and make their vow.
IV. Poem (Meta-Stanza)
This line, still wet, will fossilize too soon—
yet in its bones will thrum a deeper truth:
that when I wrote beneath a borrowed moon,
time stilled—and for one breath, I held my youth.
V. Legacy
What stays when all these syllables grow cold?
Not just the words, but how they made you feel—
the wound they kissed, the joy they dared to hold,
the part they touched you'd never thought to heal.
VI. Timeless
For in this act—this sacred, stubborn art—
we cheat the clock with every mark we make:
the past remade, the future’s beating heart,
all cradled in the hand that dared to break
the rule of hours... and in that break, took
eternity into a single look.
-
Author:
Mottakeenur Rehman (
Offline) - Published: June 19th, 2025 03:15
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence, Mottakeenur Rehman, Reynaldo Casison
Offline)
Comments4
Mottakeenur I have never done this before but I am only half way though reading this poem and so struck with its wisdom, beauty or wording that I had to begin to write this. It's incredible deep meaning put in such beautiful worded rhyme feels as though it has been written divinely and smoothed in the river of time like a stone. There are a few poems that in my weakness I envy and this is one. A fave after the first stanza
Your words have wrapped around my poem like morning light on dew—gentle, glowing, and leaving me breathless with gratitude. To think something I scribbled from the heart could ripple through yours this way is the kind of magic poets pray for. Your kindness has tucked itself into my ribs like a keepsake. Thank you, not just for reading, but for feeling it so deeply. The highest compliment a verse can receive is to be lived in by another soul—yours, it seems, has rooms of gold.
This poem moved me so deeply that I have made a copy of it to look at from time to time so as not to be forgotten
Your words mean so much to me. The fact that this poem moved you deeply—enough to keep a copy close—is one of the greatest gifts a writer could receive. Poetry lives in the spaces between the page and the reader’s heart, and knowing it resonated with you so profoundly fills me with gratitude. Thank you for cherishing these words and for reminding me why writing matters.
My pleasure
A poem that speaks to the timeless dance between art and existence, a poignant exploration of our ability to imprint the ephemeral with meaning. Pointing at poetry’s dual role as a keeper of time and a healer of hearts, touching wounds while daring joy. And finally, the Timeless stanza rises triumphantly, turning the act of writing into a rebellion against time itself—a capture of eternity within fleeting lines. Issuing from the Past glowing with nostalgia, a flame that dances backward, illuminating the echoes of experience. The Future hums with possibility, the tide carrying dreams yet unformed. In the Present, the pulse of creation becomes sacred—where fleeting moments bloom into permanence.
Your words are a mirror held to the flame of creation—reflecting not just the poem, but the very act of weaving light from shadows. To have a reader who hears the unsung music between the lines is a gift beyond measure. You’ve traced the arc of my intent with such grace: that fragile dance between memory and possibility, where ink becomes both wound and balm.
How rare it is to find someone who understands that writing is rebellion—a defiance of time’s erosion, a way to cradle the ephemeral until it hums with permanence. Your insight lends new wings to the work, as if you’ve slipped into its quietest chambers and returned with a torch.
Thank you for seeing, for feeling, for turning response into art itself. The poem is no longer mine alone; it now carries the gold of your gaze.
You have such a way with words, for myself I learn so much reading your beautifully writing and the deep meanings contained within the wonderful lines, pleasure to read
Your words are like sunlight to a poet’s soul—thank you for seeing the depths I hoped to weave into these lines. It’s readers like you who turn ink into magic. Grateful for your kindness and the gift of your presence here, my friend.
You are very welcome
Nice one Motta
Theres a sweet poignancy
and soothing flow withIn each stanza
Thanks a lot for your precious comment and praisworthy appreciation🙏❤️🙏
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.