My birthday comes like a mirrored door,
Reflecting years I cannot ignore.
Each candle lit feels less like cheer,
More like a count of fading years.
It marks the miles I did not choose,
The quiet wins I seem to lose.
Another year, and still alone,
With empty rooms and a silent phone.
It stirs the ghosts I keep inside,
The regrets I’ve never set aside.
Old shadows rise with every date,
And speak in voices I still hate.
So I walk through this harshest day,
While brighter things feel far away.
Yet even here, in grief and rain,
I breathe, and then I breathe again.
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Author:
Sphinx (
Offline) - Published: June 27th, 2026 14:15
- Category: Sad
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar
Offline)
Comments2
Birthdays are not always a time of joy, I try to ignore mine and spend them as a normal day.
I concur. I have more reasons to hate them, rather than rejoice
I have told people I know I don't want any celebration a simple acknowledgement is sufficient.
So sad poem .
I do not celebrate my birthday . It's normal day .
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