Stay Long Enough to Hear It

Photo:Freepix

Sometimes the thought doesn’t run— it waits.

It stands just outside the noise,
patient in a way that feels like silence,
asking if you’re done rushing past yourself.

Not every idea arrives loud.
Some sit down beside you
and say nothing
until you do.

So pause—
not to stop,
but to listen.

Let the unfinished feeling
clear its throat.
Let the almost-sentence
find its spine.

This is the part no one applauds:
the staying.
The breathing.
The trust that something real
is forming beneath the quiet.

Don’t fill the space too quickly.
Some truths need room
before they’re brave enough to stand.

And when it finally speaks—
soft, steady, unmistakable—
you’ll know.

You didn’t chase it.
You didn’t force it.

You stayed long enough
to hear it.

These poems from my trilogy series are about how thinking really works—not in straight lines, not on command. First, the mind moves. Then the words appear. And finally, there’s the quiet moment where something deeper asks to be heard.

Together, they trace a small, honest cycle:
the courage to keep going,
the urgency to catch what arrives,
and the patience to stay when silence follows.

They’re a reminder that creativity isn’t just about speed or brilliance—
it’s about attention.
About trusting motion, honoring instinct,
and listening long enough for meaning to surface.

Catch It Before It Smirks

Photo from: DeccanHerald

Some thoughts don’t arrive fully formed.
They show up running, laughing, unfinished—
and if we hesitate, they vanish.
These two poems: 

Don’t Let Your Brain Stop and 

Catch It Before It Smirks 

are about keeping the mind moving 
and catching words before they slip away.

Catch It Before It Smirks

When the words start moving,
don’t assume they’ll wait for you.
They’re slippery like dreams at morning,
already halfway out the door.

A sentence shows up unannounced,
half-dressed, half-formed,
and if you don’t grab its sleeve,
t will vanish into thin air
and laugh about it later.

Thoughts are rude like that.
They visit once.
They hate being postponed.

So write it crooked.
Write it wrong.
Write it breathless on the back of a receipt
or the corner of your hand.

Don’t say later.
Later is where ideas go to disappear.

Because the moment you hesitate,
the words smirk—
what a silly human being,
thinking inspiration was patient.

Maybe thinking doesn’t need to arrive polished.

Maybe it just needs permission to keep moving.

To wander, to stumble, to show up unfinished and honest.

If something stirred while you were reading, don’t overthink it—

catch it. Write it. Let it live.

And see where it takes you next.

Don't Let Your Brain Stop

This is the first poem of a trilogy about how ideas move through us.
First, the mind refuses to stop.
Then the words demand to be caught.
And finally, silence asks us to stay and listen.
Three moments of the same creative breath...

Picture from StockCake

Don’t let your brain stop
mid-spark, mid-wonder, mid-why,
let it keep running barefoot through ideas
like a kid who forgot the time

Don’t let your brain stop
when a sentence trips and laughs at itself,
when a thought is messy and unfinished
and still brave enough to exist

Let it hum, let it wander,
let it doodle in the margins of the day,
connecting stars that were never meant
to be a constellation

Don’t let your brain stop
at the first wrong turn—
that’s usually where the interesting stuff lives,

behind the door that creaks instead of opens

Keep going, even quietly,
even sideways, even unsure,
because motion isn’t always loud
and thinking isn’t always neat

Don’t let your brain stop
just because the world blinks,
keep the light on inside,
and see what shows up next.

A Morning, In Five Rules.

Sunrise: Canva Image

First rule of the day—

The morning cup must be full, filling;
Fulfilling.

Not just with boiling coffee
but with something warm enough
to convince the bones to wake up.

Second rule—

Don’t rush the quiet.

Let the light stretch across the room
like it’s learning how to be light.

Third—

Promise yourself one honest thought
before the noise begins,
one small truth to carry
like heat between your hands.

Fourth—

Watch the sunrise

do its quiet work,

turning yesterday into colour,

proving that beginnings don’t need permission.

Fifth—

Step out anyway.
Cup empty or full,
heart still warming,
become the day

instead of waiting for it.