Sometimes the heart grows heavy with invisible weight, Carrying stories it cannot explain. Words stand still at the edge of the throat, But rhythm begins… and the body speaks.
Feet strike the ground like quiet thunder, Releasing storms hidden deep within. In every turn, something unspoken leaves— Pain dissolving into movement.
A blank canvas waits without judgment, Patient as the sky before rain. Colours bleed like honest confessions, Soft wounds turning into shades of strength.
Hands shape small pieces from fragile moments, Crafting meaning out of quiet hours. Each creation whispers gently— “You are still whole… you are still here.”
In warm kitchens, healing simmers slowly, Spices rising like forgotten hope. Simple acts become silent prayers, Feeding not hunger—but emptiness.
Music enters where silence once screamed, Wrapping broken thoughts in melody. Every note holds a trembling truth, Carrying tears without asking why.
Art is not escape from life’s shadows, It is the lantern carried through them. A sacred therapy without a prescription, A happiness born from surviving storms.
And somewhere between rhythm and colour, Between melody and creation— A quiet miracle happens unseen: The soul and heart learns how to enjoy life again.
_virtuosowoman_
“Where Broken Silence Becomes Art”
Sometimes the heart grows heavy with invisible weight,
Carrying stories it cannot explain.
Words stand still at the edge of the throat,
But rhythm begins… and the body speaks.
Feet strike the ground like quiet thunder,
Releasing storms hidden deep within.
In every turn, something unspoken leaves—
Pain dissolving into movement.
A blank canvas waits without judgment,
Patient as the sky before rain.
Colours bleed like honest confessions,
Soft wounds turning into shades of strength.
Hands shape small pieces from fragile moments,
Crafting meaning out of quiet hours.
Each creation whispers gently—
“You are still whole… you are still here.”
In warm kitchens, healing simmers slowly,
Spices rising like forgotten hope.
Simple acts become silent prayers,
Feeding not hunger—but emptiness.
Music enters where silence once screamed,
Wrapping broken thoughts in melody.
Every note holds a trembling truth,
Carrying tears without asking why.
Art is not escape from life’s shadows,
It is the lantern carried through them.
A sacred therapy without a prescription,
A happiness born from surviving storms.
And somewhere between rhythm and colour,
Between melody and creation—
A quiet miracle happens unseen:
The soul and heart learns how to enjoy life again.
_DeepikaNarayan_
#poeticthoughts
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_virtuosowoman_
Waiting Waiting Waiting
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_virtuosowoman_
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