Eight Years Later Poem, by Shriya Tiwari , at My poetic side

For eight years, I glanced from my bedroom window,

time humming past like a late-night radio,

flickers of life in everything but the letter I wrote

to become the girl living her dreams, glowing quietly.

Tonight, I am no longer in control of my mind.

my emotions take control, letting me embrace

the silence wrapping me.

time slows down; wind skims my ears

as if the night whispered—

you are not alone.

I don’t count stars.

I don’t trace constellations.

I feel the edges of my younger self:

the girl who tucked letters into drawers,

who never slept peacefully,

who never got a chance to nourish her soul.

Her voice rises from the page:

"When will I be free?

When will I be the one

who changes the world through her words?"

I open the letter tonight,

paper crumpled slightly under my fingers,

as if assuring me I wouldn’t cry,

dreams piled in the trash,

broken wings dusted with neglect.

Everything changed in a blink—

the moon starts hiding in the clouds,

window curtains billow toward the ceiling,

thunderstorms remind me how long I’ve held my tears,

and now I let them free.

Still, she is alive inside me,

the ambitious girl who did not know when she would shine,

who waited, joining her pieces each time.

And yet—

tonight, she meets herself.

Tonight, the moon witnesses the quiet triumph

of keeping a promise to the girl who once asked

if she would ever become her own voice—

and now, she has.

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Eight Years Later