My power from beyond the horizon nudges me and whispers— “You are not done.”
Take a dive, touch your core, You have to open many a poetic door.
Nothing stops the sun from rising.
I wrote those words this morning while watching the light stretch across the water. It struck me that the sun doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t check if the world is ready, and it doesn’t apologize for the days it was hidden behind the clouds. It simply is. Its so powerful that we can’t do without it warmth. Its there and we look up to its golden glow. That is what I want to be in life. Look up at the positive and go with the flow, one sunrise at a time.
For a long time, I felt like my “pause” needed a footnote. I felt like telling the world why suddenly there was a pause to my poems that used to happen more in the past. I knew there was something and that needed a bit of nudging to open up and start flowing again. Did not want that treasure trove of poems to sit there in silence. They are my works all right, but its for the world to read and dive deep into its space.
But Nature gives freedom with no clause.
This return isn’t about explaining the past; it’s about honouring the present. By bringing my poetry, my thoughts in prose, and my professional journey under this one roof, I am practicing the same unconditional rising I see in the horizon.
We often think we need a perfect reason to start again. We wait for a “sign” or a specific milestone. But the only proof we need is the fact that we are alive and living. Isn’t that just the beauty of life itself?
If you’ve been sitting in your own version of a “pause,” let this be your invitation to rise anyway. No clauses. No conditions. Just light the candle and let the flame’s dance inspire you to bring it on.
I was squawky and thin, with buck teeth and two braids that never seemed quite right. My spectacles covered most of my face, and I was almost transitionally pale. Physically, I was a sorry picture.
Maybe that was you, too?
Back then, I was afraid to confront anyone, anywhere. I lived with a permanent lump in my throat—especially when a teacher called on me to stand and speak. My gaze was forever floor-struck, anchored by a weight I didn’t yet understand.
Finding My Wings: Years passed. School blurred into college, and things began to shift. Exposure to new friends and the daily rhythm of public transport forced me out of my shell. But the real turning point? Financial independence.
A great job and a steady salary brought more than just purchasing power; they brought the ability to groom myself with confidence and widen my circle. I realized then that financial independence wasn’t just about money—it was the wind beneath my wings that gave me the strength to fly.
For a long time, I mistook my sensitivity for fragility. Because I felt everything so deeply, I honestly wondered: Am I even built for the ‘real’ world? I had to learn that the most resilient trees are the ones that know how to bend in the wind. Being “on the go” today doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being a Sensitive Person. It means I have finally learned to use that sensitivity as my compass instead of a cage. My quiet nature is no longer a weakness; it is a virtue with its own quiet power.
The Question for You: Have you ever felt like your quietness was a constraint keeping you from taking flight? How did you find your key—the one that allowed you to take the leap and never look back?
Today, I am able to write about it because I have left that behind. No more insecure and today all the stronger.
I remember the weight of it first—not as a burden, but as a stone I had to keep under my tongue so I wouldn’t accidentally let the truth slip. As a child, that childhood secret was a tiny failure I was afraid to tell the world about. It was a massive weight for me then, though I didn’t yet understand that my hidden truths didn’t really matter to the world at large. Still, I was too scared to announce my personal reflections to the world, so I tucked that memory into the smallest corner of my ribcage and promised it safety. It remains safe to this day; perhaps a bit rusty and gathered in dust, but it is a private story that is nevertheless still there.
The stone under my tongue has smoothed over time, worn down by years of silence until it feels less like an obstruction and more like a part of my own anatomy. I didn’t know then that the world is often blind to our small stumbles; I only knew that I had to protect it. So, I built a sanctuary for it in the marrow of my bones.
Decades have passed, and that child has grown into a woman who has seen the seasons turn and the world change, yet the secret dot remains. The secrets have multiplied, layering like old lace in a drawer, but the fear is gone; in its place is a quiet, steady pact. We belong to each other now—the silence and I—a partnership that will remain unbroken until the very end. Now no more afraid of what the world thinks, now its between me and my secrets.
As the years gathered, that single secret became the foundation for others. Some are heavier, some are lighter, but they all rest in that same “old lace” drawer of my soul. There is a profound dignity in this seasoned silence. It is no longer about the fear of being judged; it is about the power of being known only to oneself. We walk together, my secrets and I, through crowded rooms and empty streets, sharing a private smile at a history that belongs to no one else.
We all carry a “tiny failure” that we once thought would break the world if it got out. Today, I invite you to look inward at your own “ribcage sanctuary.” You don’t have to share the secret—that is your pact to keep—but I would love to know: How has your relationship with your silence changed as you’ve grown?
Leave a comment below, or simply light a virtual candle 🕯️ in the comments to acknowledge the stories you carry.
I have my own, and some of it is to do with failures – more on the same in a post I had written earlier
They say the third time’s a charm, but coming back to this space today feels like the first time all over again. 🫠
I want to say a huge thank you to the WordPress community and my followers on Instagram and LinkedIn. Seeing the views climb on my ‘Odd One Out’ revival today reminds me why I started Whispering Verses in the first place—to connect through resilience and shared stories.
Whether you came from the WP Reader, found me through a search engine, or clicked over from my social handles, your presence here means the world.
The ‘New Chapter for 2026’ is officially open, and I’m so glad you’re part of the narrative.
In 2026, the ‘crows’ haven’t disappeared—they’ve just changed their tune. Whether it’s societal expectations, professional hurdles, or the quiet voices of self-doubt, we all face moments where we feel like the ‘odd one out’ in a rowdy world.
I first wrote these words when a tiny bird taught me that being small doesn’t mean being weak. It means being strategic, resilient, and unyielding. As I revive the Hersunshine Poems series, I wanted to bring this lesson back to the surface: Your difference isn’t your disadvantage; it is your vantage point.
To every woman standing against the wall today—this one is for you
This poem marks a new chapter. While my heart still belongs to Whispering Verses, I am beginning a dedicated exploration of hersunshinepoems (HSP) journey. You can now find these specific reflections at newly done up home, @hersunshinepoems
An early morning chaos outside my bedroom window on a wet, drizzly, rainy day literally woke me up. A small, scared bird, who was probably injured, was being harassed by a bunch of rowdy crows. The poor little thing was firstly lost and secondly could not fly. The crows saw an opportunity and kept bullying him, as he was probably an outsider in the vicinity and was injured.
Not being part of the herd was a disadvantage, and being alone added to his sorry circumstance. Not sure if birds cry, but if they did, this little one sure had tears in his innocent eyes. With whatever little willpower he had, he put up a fight and moved into the cavity of a healthy nearby bush, where the crows were not able to reach because of their size.
This presence of mind saved this little soul and warded off the Hooligans who were after his life. I am not sure how he may have managed thereafter, but for sure, he found a way out of this mess. Hopefully, he was united with his Mom and safely back to the safety of her warmth.
Not being part of a pack or herd most times works against us. Winners and survivors are the ones who do not quit and put up a tough fight. This rule applies to birds, animals, and, more so, to us humans. Following your own path and ensuring you stick to it, even if it means putting up with adversities or swimming against the tide, is what we term ‘winners’. A lesson reiterated by that little bird for me and for all – Never lose hope if you are put against the wall, face the challenge, and never call it quits.
Being an outsider, a disadvantage
Hounded to exit, a violent barrage
Abused and pushed to give up
Sympathy? Not a dollop
Stay there, fight to win the game
Fighters never ever face shame
Stand tall, follow your path to the end
Stay focused, however tricky the bend
Come home a winner, set an example
Get up, stand tall, even if you fall or fumble
A Note from the Heart
There is a specific kind of peace that comes when you stop trying to be the ‘bright sun’ for everyone else and embrace the quiet of the ‘rainy days.’ I wrote this poem while watching water gather on leaves, realizing that the leaf doesn’t struggle to stay dry—it simply holds the weight until it’s time to let go. This is a reminder to myself, and to you, that it is okay to be different
They say the internet never sleeps, but sometimes, our corners of it do and mine did for a while.
For a while now, my writing has been scattered. You’ve seen fragments of it on Facebook, snapshots on Instagram, and professional updates on LinkedIn. I’ve enjoyed the “scroll,” the quick likes, and the fleeting conversations. But as a writer, I’ve started to miss the depth. I’ve missed having a “quiet space” where a thought can breathe for more than a few seconds.
That is what this blog used to be, and it’s what I’m turning it back into today.
What to Expect Moving Forward
I’m reviving this space to be the “Hub” for all my creative threads. Whether it’s the nature poetry that grounds me, the empowerment stories I share through Hersunshine, or my reflections on the creative process—it will all start here.
Here is what you can look forward to:
Weekly Deep Dives: One meaningful piece of writing every week.
The Story Behind the Poem: Context I can’t fit into an Instagram caption.
A Unified Voice: Bringing my professional, creative, and personal insights into one conversation.
A Note to You, my readers and followers
To those who have been here since the beginning, thank you for waiting for the lights to come back on. To those are joining me from my other platforms, welcome to the “Inner Circle.”
I’m cleaning up the archives, sharpening my pen, and getting back to the work that matters most: the words.
I’d love to hear from you in the comments:Is there a specific poem or topic I’ve shared on social media recently that you’d like me to expand on here? I shall be happy to as always.
Every morning, as I walked downstairs after a restful night, a pot placed in the corner greeted me with its vibrant pink clusters. Hydrangeas, I was told. A gift from a plant-loving friend—full of life, soft blushes, and silent joy. My reason to smile as I sip my morning coffee and unlock thoughts that seem to flow with ease at that morning hour, with the aroma of fresh goodness only coffee gives me
Then one morning, the sight jarred me. The blooms were drooping, the leaves lifeless. My heart sank. Had I neglected it? Was it the sun, the water—or the lack of love? Or was it all of them? Felt guilty and somehow responsible for its state of health.
Though guilt gripped me, but so did hope. I watered it gently. And within a day, it sprang back. Heads lifted, cheeks flushed pink again. Just thirsty, it seemed, I guess. And grateful I was in every way.
Encouraged, I thought it deserved more. A bigger space, a permanent home in the earth. I found a sunny patch, dug deep, added rich soil, and carefully transplanted it. Being gentle and whispering to it on its movement to another space in the garden. It probably heard and reacted, which I obviously never heard or felt.
But this time, things went from bad to worse. Day by day, it wilted. Flowers dried up. Leaves fell. I stood before it, heartbroken wondering if I’d done the right thing. Did I dig its grave? Thought I was giving it a better life, but this was a horrible sight.
And then, again, hope whispered: Wait.
Two tiny leaves held on, like determined little soldiers. Days passed, and stalks slowly turned green. Then—tiny, tender leaves emerged. Life had returned. Quietly. Resiliently. I felt relieved and truly happy.
Now, my morning ritual has changed. I walk up to this hydrangea and gently run my fingers along its stems. I whisper, “Thank you”— For the power of life. For showing me the strength of waiting. For reminding me that hope is ever green, and it never truly dies.
Life, like this plant, sometimes withers. It droops. It looks beyond saving. But don’t give up. Water it with belief. Shine some sunlight of kindness. Wait. Pray. Trust. The universe listens. The universe not just listens but also feels and reacts.
I still wait for the day when those pink blossoms return. I may not be around to see them. But when they bloom, they will carry a quiet message: That someone once hoped and hope bloomed, here in pink but HOPE has no color. It’s like the rainbow, colors that merge with the sky and embraces the universe while the universe returns the love and affection multi-fold.
As the title says, sunset precedes darkness. However, the reference here is to a person’s final years of life. A post shared on social media with the aforementioned phrase triggered my thoughts.
The term “senior” refers to people over the age of 60. An age when physical, mental, and emotional issues crop up. In today’s environment, effortlessly unlearning and enthusiasim to learn is imperative. Being fit is essential. However, one never knows when this aspect of our lives will change lanes and leave us seeking assistance, looking for a lift. The first constructive step is to psychologically prepare for the situation. Yes, it is definitely different for everyone, but it has to happen and this fact must finally be accepted.
Hoping to reach milestones after this age (60 years) in good health is reason to celebrate. However, it is during this time that one misses a spouse, if widowed, or misses agility, if unwell, as well as the freedom to do as one pleases when finances require digging, and most importantly, one misses the vitality and energy to fly with no concern in the world
Family, particularly children who grow up to become parents of their parents, ensure they are cared for as if they were children. A role reversal of sorts. Monitoring diets, lectures on navigating today’s fast-paced society, maintaining good health, and acting as a support system in the event of a fall. The mind plays games, and losing the fundamentals is frustrating. Help is always needed, and having them around is a blessing. Needless to add, continents now separate parents and children. As a result, support is only possible virtually, and even that is considered a blessing. Life is challenging, and it’s doubly tough for the younger generation, as it is for those who are heading towards the sunset.
The fortunate few have this opportunity, yet many others around the world are forced to spend their golden years alone. Season after season, birthday after birthday, new year after year, they simply stare out of their window. Summer, Spring, Autumn, and Winter. They become friends with birds, squirrels, butterflies, bees, and even raccoons. A hobby to battle this loneliness is a must. A great tool to keep that sanity in place
Friendship, particularly those from childhood, is important during these years of life. It’s like a complete circle. Many of us are glad to get back to this childhood friends group because we require company, a bit of funny laughing, a nonjudgmental shoulder to rest on, and, of course, that little bit of gossip, discussion, and banter that is free of age constraints. If you have a bunch of genuine friends, count yourself lucky.
If you have good health, enough wealth, a roof over your head, warmth in the winter, music to keep your heart in rhythm, games to keep your mind ticking, and love from family, you can enjoy the best years of your life till the sun eventually sets.
Sitting by the water, in thought, and reflecting on the past becomes easier as one grows older. It’s God’s way of encouraging you to be grateful for what you have, to remember those who have held your hand, and to let a tear fall on your wrinkled palm as you feel the warmth of your mother’s touch, long gone but still very much there. Mothers have this unique virtue.
Gratitude wrapped in humility for a life that has passed. A good life if that is what fate has given you, or a difficult life if that is what destiny has planned for you – either way, it is a lottery. Leaving a good footprint on the shores of the cosmos will return to hug you in a form you would never have imagined.
The sun ultimately sets, and darkness descends. Some people wake up to see the sunlight, while others have travelled to an unknown universe. Someday, each of us will have the opportunity to travel down the tunnel that connects us to that universe, either to create another story or to become a star while watching others perform their roles as fated/destined.
In the grand scheme of things, my existence is meaningless, I’m just a speck. Yes, I am probably a bit larger speck for relatives, friends, and acquaintances, but I am still a speck. For some in the family, I could be nonexistent, and so also for the bigger circle of people, I may just about know.
There are only a few people who care about me and vice versa. I suppose it happens with time and the paths we all take. Paths can sometimes run parallel and wind up at crossroads only to travel in the opposite direction. People who travel the same path end up spending more time together over time. Family members who are like friends are more precious as are friends who are like family.
However, social media has connected these little dots, creating a form of family. A stage for all and instant relationships. Also, behind the scenes of these social media sites are the same people who, from the outside, appear to be perfect. A flawless human being, perfect in relationships, perfect as a friend, parent, sibling, neighbor, and so forth. The list goes on and on. A personification of perfection. This leaves the genuinely imperfect (like me) wondering how they can be so perfect. In either case, that’s a web with no end or a hole with no bottom. It’s easy to get lost in there. So, it’s best not to think about it too much. Wabi Sabi, or beauty in imperfection, is the concept I live by, and it leads to a calmer existence.
Every one of us has those special days throughout the year. To begin with – birthdays, anniversaries, accomplishments, recognition, sorrow, or grief, to name a few follow during the year. The networking platforms that run alongside our lives (Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, Telegram, and so on) contain a lot of memory from the data you feed into their guts. A member of one of these groups on these social media platforms wishes someone a happy birthday or anniversary, and a chain of wishes follows. No one, except possibly the first person to wish remembered. Others simply believe it is an obligation to wish, celebrate, console, and keep the emoji pop-up coming on the group. Most prime the emoji or abbreviation (RIP) selected must land on time.
After deleting the date of birth data fed into sites like Facebook, I feel so much better since I know that only those who care or care to remember will write down a birthday wish that comes from the heart and can be called “genuine.” I have a few acquaintances on social media platforms who are no longer alive, but their pages still exist and their photos float about the internet, in a way not leaving this planet even in death. I surely would not want to exist anywhere near this earth once my time comes to an end and the doors to another realm welcome me with wide arms – I hope!
Let’s head back to the front of the curtain. A theatrical performance or an act performed with the sole purpose of receiving applause and cheers from the audience. There are no feelings, sentiments, or emotions attached here. The stage is the world we live in and the façade we put up is the show in front of the curtain. The show goes on.
Extended family groups that span generations are formed by a single enthusiastic person, with additions appearing as members grow and deletions becoming obvious as they go. Wishes of people who are not often seen or known, but who are united under the term of family. Digital hugs that are meaningless yet pop up because of a calendar reminder.
With age, and partly because of the speed with which the world is moving, I and many others feel the need to psychologically downsize. Fewer friends, fewer family members, specifically only those who care, fewer acquaintances, and fewer life hassles. It is, in some ways, returning us to the inner circle from which we first emerged. A dot or speck that strikes the center only to vanish into the universe and merge with the horizon to find serenity.
Cascading wishes aren’t warm, usually, the words are copied from the internet, pasted, and forwarded. They come with a wrapping that, when peeled, sometimes reveals nothing but a vacuum within. Let us make those wishes genuine even if you are a few days late. At the very least, you know it originates from the center of the compartment that contains genuine emotions – the heart!
We have all experienced a period of dissatisfaction that occurs on a regular basis. This feeling arises from deep within at various periods of life.
It just differs in depth and texture. As children, we were largely concerned with school, grades, teachers, and competition. Teenage noticed some hints of the opposite sex in this chapter, and it progressed to the employment scenario, spouse, managing homes, promotions, finances, and so on. It all came down to school, grades, teachers, and everything else surrounding their upbringing as a parent. A kind of full circle in every way.
Today, where I stand, the whole circle has met at the starting point, and I should be grateful that its shape is not too off the mark, and my circle appears to be as round as it can get. You’d imagine this is a stage of contentment, happiness, joy, relaxation, and so much more. But, alas, we are humans, and we are always looking for that illusive mirage. Pursuing something that does not exist!
Nonetheless, I was given a dose of a bitter medicine this morning. Dissatisfaction on my part vs. the true difficulty that many people suffer around the world. The one link, in my condition of being unsatisfied that somehow had vanished was ‘gratitude’.
Gratitude for the blessings that have come my way from birth to wherever I am today. The uppermost tier of this treasure box known as blessings is occupied by good health.
To transport you to the time I experienced this, you must accompany me inside a training room filled with barbells, kettlebells, weights, and other equipment used to acquire strength, tone, and, to some extent, feel fit. After securing my preferred location, we were all set for a fifty-minute window to BURN more than calories. A young girl with a stylish pixie hairstyle, black shorts, and a t-shirt stood diagonally ahead of me. Like everyone else in the room, I’m ready for a good exercise. Normally, I am not one to look at what others are doing, especially because they are always performing better than me; instead, I attempt to do my best comparing myself to my last session.
To return to her, I couldn’t help but admire her. She was physically challenged, but not overtly obvious. Her right hand was perhaps not fully formed, or it was an accident–I don’t know. Reminded me of Nick Vujicic, whose tale I had read and felt inspired by his grit while being grateful for being born a physically normal human.
She was at it, all exercises performed, superb form, and with strength that life may provide in excess when something else falls short. This morning, I made a contrast with her expression. Confidence, satisfaction, and determination were definitely not 100% within me. I was mortified, and the realization hit me right in the gut. It seemed as if a guardian angel was hovering over me, whispering two words to me in my years – ‘be grateful.’
While I may feel my arms or thighs aren’t as toned, while on some days that I’m distracted by chipped nail polish or an overdue hair colour touch , I stand here today on this block numbered 21 staring up at the sky from the window pane. How naive and thankless can we be? How we take things for granted and never see our cup almost always half full.
If I have a reasonably long life ahead of me, I would like thankfulness to constantly walk with me. I also see that life has a way of knocking us down if we get self-absorbed and swerve from the core qualities where gratitude never fades.
whisperingverses - Girija Menon 
