Tag: Poetry

  • Stillness Beyond the Mist

    Stillness Beyond the Mist

    .

    बादलों की नरम चादर पर

    टिकी है नज़र कहीं दूर…

    जहाँ धुंध के पार,

    शांत, स्थिर, अडिग—

    हिमालय खड़ा है भरपूर।

    .

    ये बादल आते-जाते हैं,

    रूप बदलते, बिखर जाते हैं…

    पर वो पर्वत—

    ना डोलता, ना थकता,

    बस अपनी जगह ठहर जाता है।

    .

    जैसे जीवन के ये छोटे शोर,

    उलझनें, भावनाओं के घने घेर…

    और भीतर कहीं

    एक हिमालय भी है—

    अडिग, शांत, गंभीर।

    .

    ऊपर से सब धुंधला-सा लगता है,

    पर सत्य कहीं खोता नहीं…

    जो स्थिर है अपने अस्तित्व में,

    वो कभी ओझल होता नहीं।

    .

    बादलों के पार से झांकता,

    एक मौन सा विश्वास—

    कि चाहे जितनी धुंध हो,

    अडिग रहना ही है ख़ास।

    .

    On a soft blanket of clouds,

    my gaze drifts far away…

    Beyond the mist,

    calm, steady, unwavering

    the Himalayas quietly stay.

    .

    These clouds come and go,

    shifting forms, fading apart…

    But the mountains

    they neither tremble nor tire,

    they simply stand from the start.

    .

    Like the noise of everyday life,

    the tangles, the emotional haze…

    And somewhere within us too,

    there lives a Himalaya

    silent, strong in its ways.

    .

    From above, it all seems blurred,

    yet truth is never truly gone…

    What stands firm in its being

    can never be withdrawn.

    .

    Peeking through the drifting clouds,

    a quiet kind of grace

    no matter how thick the fog,

    steadiness finds its place.

    .

    View from an airplane above soft white clouds with the distant Himalayas visible through mist, featuring the title “Stillness Beyond the Mist” and the word “Nihshabd” on a calm blue sky background.
    Somewhere between takeoff and landing… the Himalayas found me ☁️✨

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • The Quiet Bloom of Me

    Illustrated with love — by Rajeshwari.

    .

    I tie my anklet

    the way dawn ties light to the sky—

    softly,

    without asking permission.

    .

    The jasmine in my hair

    isn’t decoration;

    it’s a reminder

    that I bloom on ordinary days

    just because I can.

    .

    My lehenga rustles,

    gentle as a whispered secret—

    as if it knows

    I’m not dressing for anyone,

    just returning to myself

    a little more beautifully.

    .

    If love finds me,

    let it come quietly.

    I’m already a poem

    learning its own rhythm.

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    (Poem & Illustration © Rajeshwari.

    Unauthorized copying, reposting, or use of this content is not allowed.)

  • My Dream Home (With My Feel, My Chaos, My Magic)

    My Dream Home (With My Feel, My Chaos, My Magic)

    Write about your dream home.

    A tiny house, hugging the earth, not trying to impress anyone

    just quietly saying, “Here I am. This is me.”

    In front, a garden. My garden.

    A tree with a swing. Sit, sway, swishhh…

    and suddenly, all tension? Gone. Just like that. Magic, right?

    Kids’ laughter everywhere. Random giggles, shrieks, little explosions of happiness.

    Birds gossip in the trees like they know all my secrets.

    Flowers perfume the air so strongly, I sometimes forget to breathe.

    Bees? Drama queens with tiny wings, buzzing like, “Yes, yes, we are busy, don’t bother us!”

    And the breeze… oh, that cheeky breeze… it plays with my hair,

    reminding me, “You belong here. Don’t forget it.”

    Evenings are chaos with Kiwi.

    She jumps, runs, zooms like the garden is her racetrack,

    while I dig in the soil planting vegetables, flowers, maybe my sanity somewhere too.

    Time? Who cares. Lost among petals, dirt, and laughter.

    My house… it’s heaven.

    Every corner has a story, a hug, a little secret.

    Guests feel at home… but secretly,

    I know, my mark is everywhere. My laughter, my chaos, my stories.

    There’s a secret nook where the sky leans in.

    We lie there, staring at stars, making constellations only we understand.

    Hours vanish, reality pauses, and my heart whispers:

    “This is exactly where we belong.”

    Another corner my arts and crafts kingdom.

    Tiny worlds of color, glitter, and chaos, all mine.

    Step in, and the world fades. Creativity takes over.

    Another nook music. My soundtrack, my secret spells,

    turning ordinary nights into magic, turning strangers’ dreams into friends.

    There’s a staircase that climbs up success steps, dream steps, maybe just look-at-how-high-I-can-go steps.

    And a tiny temple for me. Where I melt into Krishna’s presence,

    and the world can wait. Seriously, let it wait.

    Every corner bursts with joy, a sprinkle of mischief, a pinch of sarcasm, and tons of love.

    Blessings of elders, kids’ chaos, Kiwi’s energy full combo pack.

    And me? I sit, laugh, plant, dream, sing, play, and leave tiny footprints of magic everywhere.

    This is my home, my little heaven, my chaos, my music, my smell, my heartbeat.

    A place where laughter sticks, dreams float,

    and anyone who walks in… leaves smiling, thinking:

    “Wow… maybe such a home really exists.

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

  • ✨ When Great News Arrives Wearing Fairy Wings ✨

    ✨ When Great News Arrives Wearing Fairy Wings ✨

    You get some great, amazingly fantastic news. What’s the first thing you do?

    The moment I get great news

    not gently,

    not politely,

    just BOOM💥

    straight from the universe

    like a shooting star💫

    that forgot to reduce speed…

    I freeze.

    Because joy always arrives

    like it’s running late

    for its own surprise party.🎉

    For a second,

    everything goes still

    even the wind pauses,

    as if it wants front-row seats.

    Then suddenly

    butterflies🦋 appear out of thin air,

    spinning around me

    like tiny, glittery cheerleaders

    who have been waiting

    for this exact plot twist.

    The sun☀️ tilts a little,

    giving me its golden nod of approval.

    Clouds ☁️ drift apart

    as if the sky wants

    a better view of my happiness.

    And the moment feels so magical

    that even reality seems confused.

    My first reaction?

    I try to act normal.

    A hopeless attempt, honestly.

    Because inside me,

    my inner drama queen👸

    is already doing cartwheels,🤸‍♀️

    screaming,😱

    Meanwhile,

    my over-smart inner voice

    adjusts its imaginary sunglasses😎 and mutters,

    “Great. Don’t faint.

    We don’t have a spare version of you.”

    And somehow,

    “Yesss, finally!”

    right between laughing😆

    and almost tearing up,🥹

    my heart♥️ whispers

    a tiny trembling “thank you”

    to something bigger than me

    the sky,

    luck,

    destiny,

    or maybe

    my own stubborn hope.

    But great news is never mine alone.

    It travels

    straight to the people

    whose joy rises and falls with mine.

    My little “gear wall” of humans

    the ones who cheer loudest,

    who keep my courage oiled,

    who celebrate my wins

    as if someone handed them the trophy🏆 .

    Family, friends, my constants

    their happiness echoes

    before mine even settles.

    Then comes that electric⚡️ moment

    when the news finally sinks in,

    and my whole world

    does a soft, silent fireworks🧨 explosion.

    A deep breath escapes

    the kind that feels like

    opening a window in your soul.

    And suddenly,

    every little thing

    the light, the breeze, the sky

    seems to celebrate with me.

    So what do I do

    when I get great news?

    I let myself smile😊.

    The honest, embarrassing,

    can’t-hide-it kind.

    The smile that starts small

    and then spreads

    like a butterfly🦋 discovering its wings🪽

    Because good news 🗞️

    doesn’t just arrive

    it blooms.

    Inside the chest.

    Across the face.

    All over the moment.

    And somewhere far beyond that

    in the hearts💕 of the people

    who love me.

    And I stand there, glowing,

    whispering to life,

    “If this is how magic feels…

    send more.”

    —Rajeshwari💕🧿

  • Something on my “to-do list” that never gets done: Clean the closet

    Something on your “to-do list” that never gets done.

    An open wardrobe filled with colorful clothes, sarees, suits, and scattered shoes, symbolizing procrastination and everyday chaos, representing a to-do list task that never gets done cleaning the closet.
    “Some promises don’t need reminders.
    They live quietly in the closet.”

    The closet waits. Silent, judging, full of secrets.

    Socks lost in mysterious disappearances, shoes plotting rebellions,

    T-shirts from “a newer me” whispering, remember me?

    I open the door with courage…

    And immediately regret it.

    Inside, my eyes fall on bundles of sarees.

    Colors stacked like temptation, prints too beautiful to ignore.

    For a brief, dangerous moment, I’m convinced

    I’ll wear a saree every day.

    Suits stand ready, dupattas look agreeable,

    as if routine can suddenly learn grace.

    Because cleaning isn’t moving clothes it’s time traveling.

    This scarf reminds me of laughter I forgot.

    These heels? Of dreams I abandoned politely.

    And that pile of “I’ll wear it someday”?

    Older than my resolutions, wiser than me.

    I sort, fold, procrastinate, reminisce…

    Three hours later: nothing done.

    The closet stands undefeated.

    I close the door. It sighs. I sigh.

    Tomorrow, we’ll dance this dance again

    Me, the guilty human.

    The closet, eternal.

    —Rajeshwari 💕

  • What Do I Complain About the Most?

    What do you complain about the most?

    A young woman sits at a cluttered desk, looking overwhelmed as thought bubbles, clocks, notes, and reminders swirl around her. Above her, the title “What Do I Complain About the Most?” is written, and “Nihshabd” appears at the bottom. The illustration reflects overthinking, expectations, and everyday frustrations in a warm, expressive art style.
    “Me vs. my expectations… guess who wins every time?”

    What Do I Complain About the Most?

    I complain.
    A lot.
    About everything.
    Sometimes even about things
    I secretly enjoy complaining about.

    I complain about life
    because it doesn’t follow my plans,
    my timelines,
    or my very detailed imaginary scripts.

    I complain about people
    when they talk too much,
    when they talk too little,
    and especially
    when they don’t read my mind
    after knowing me for years.

    I complain about love
    when it’s late,
    when it’s confusing,
    and even when it’s peaceful
    because peace, honestly,
    feels suspicious.

    I complain about small things
    “Why didn’t they reply?”
    “Why did they reply like that?”
    “Why did they forget?”
    And sometimes
    “Why do I remember everything?”

    Funny thing is
    most people I complain about
    are already doing their best.
    But their best comes
    in a language
    my expectations refuse to learn.

    So I call it less.
    Life calls it different.

    I say,
    “You didn’t do enough,”
    when what I really mean is,
    “You didn’t do it the way
    I wanted…
    and on time…
    and with a little magic.”

    And let’s be honest
    even if life gave me everything,
    I’d still complain about
    the delivery system.

    But somewhere between
    all this complaining,
    I laugh.
    I realise.
    I soften.

    Because most complaints
    are not anger
    they’re love without instructions.

    They’re expectations
    wearing humour,
    frustration,
    and a little drama.

    So yes
    I complain about almost everything.

    But if I look closely,
    behind every complaint
    is someone I care about,
    something I value,
    or a life I’m still deeply involved in.

    And maybe…
    complaining is just proof
    that I haven’t checked out yet.

    That I’m still here.
    Feeling.
    Living.
    Trying.

    And honestly?
    That’s not such a bad thing. 🙂

    —Rajeshwari 💕