Seval

Tag: thepoetsawherwill

  • There Was A Man

    there was a man
    only a few years ago
    he would pack his backpack to the brim
    leaving no room for life’s gifts
    while others hiked through the woods
    he would run — over hills and wild paths
    grabbing freedom by its wings
    lifting the sky with his story,
    and letting lakes cleanse his darkness.

    then one day came
    the backpack became a heavy suitcase
    the wings, they bid him farewell
    shadows wrapped around him
    and trust had long been broken.
    though he dreams, at times, of that perfect wilderness
    what remains now
    are just high ceilings.

    The Poet Saw Her Will

  • To Describe You

    I found you in a cover version of a song.
    It was more beautiful than the original,
    more emotional,
    much better.
    The notes were the same,
    but the instruments—far more beautiful.

    I found you in an old map.
    It was handmade.
    All the details—
    meticulously crafted
    by the most talented people.
    Their hands must have trembled
    with the weight of meaning
    as they drew the lines that led to you.

    Your name appeared
    among the hidden books of an old bookstore.
    It was the most epic history book I’d ever read.
    No genre could truly capture you—
    but still,
    someone once tried.

    To describe you,
    one would need to learn
    from the time when myths and legends merged,
    from unspoiled natural wonders,
    from rare and quiet landscapes,
    from the greatest musicians of their era,
    from artists who led entire movements,
    from a ruler who opened a new age,
    from people remembered
    for the good they gave to the world.

    Still,
    I don’t know if even that would be enough
    to describe you.
    But even trying—
    was beautiful.

    The Poet Saw Her Will

  • The Unexpected Guest

    I never quite warmed up
    to the unexpected guest—
    whether a person, a feeling,
    or the sudden stretch of distance.

    No matter how much I trained myself
    to be ready for anything,
    every uninvited thing
    took a piece of me.

    And the more I tried to patch it,
    the more I realized:
    not every tear
    needs to be closed the same way.

    My soul began to expand
    with every seam,
    my heart grew
    with every fracture.

    Until it gleamed—
    like a cloak stitched with sacred light.

    Some only saw the shimmer,
    some noticed the craftsmanship.
    But the ones who truly saw,
    turned their gaze and stayed.

    Loving myself became
    the most sacred part of the journey.
    And each time I chose to stand with myself,
    my soul blessed me in return.

    But no matter how deeply I loved,
    I never worshipped anyone.
    Sometimes I loved gently,
    sometimes wildly,
    and sometimes I buried my feelings
    in the chorus of a breakup song.

    And yes—
    I know how to say goodbye
    softly.

    Still…
    instead of being
    an unexpected guest—
    be someone
    too extraordinary to ever be predicted.

    Only then
    will my soul
    love you with the kind of care
    that shelters stars.

    And always remember:
    Every sonata holds
    only the notes that are meant to be.

    The Poet Saw Her Will