Cry me rivers
still waiting to be mapped in another galaxy.
My emotions rehearse themselves
on a worldly stage of false fallacies
Words drift in the ether, circling, circling
all of them unfinished,
all of them searching.
Suppressed stories of the child
find its way on the pages of time
The myths of humankind
repeat in the salt of our tears
The lost, the unnamed,
their pain gathers at the edges of our shores
Where do we go from here?
Where does bliss hide its small, shy face?
Between here and there
the distance between lips
a brief romance of two wanderers
sharing an orbit, yet they cannot meet
Apocalyptic prophecies bloom
in an age that calls itself utopia
Hieroglyphic echoes that make the past timeless
each mark insisting on being remembered through chaos
We try to live in the crevices of peace,
ignoring the rat race gnawing at our heels
Even bliss turns its back
Every breath counts our squandered hours
A lingering sunset pleads for stillness
but you step into the night anyway,
and somewhere in that dark stroll,
You become the dawn
[562] Cry Me Rivers from Another Galaxy
Smoke words every day. 
2 responses to “[562] Cry Me Rivers from Another Galaxy”
This is a stunning piece of writing Rahul 🤝 It’s not just a poem; it’s a landscape of the soul, etched with both cosmic longing and earthly ache.
What strikes me most is the beautiful tension you’ve woven throughout. The title, “Cry me rivers,” suggests an almost performative sorrow, which then unfolds into a genuine, universal search for meaning “in another galaxy.” That movement—from a cliché of heartbreak to a profound existential quest—sets the tone perfectly.
Your imagery is breathtaking. “Emotions rehearse themselves on a worldly stage of false fallacies” captures the exhausting cycle of feeling things in a world that often feels insincere. The “words drifting in the ether, unfinished” and the “suppressed stories of the child finding their way onto the pages of time” are lines of quiet, immense power. They speak to the collective, inherited weight of memory and unsaid things.
The middle stanza is a masterclass in melancholic beauty. You connect the “myths of humankind” to the “salt of our tears,” suggesting that all our ancient stories are, at their core, stories of pain repeated. The image of pain “gathering at the edges of our shores” is visceral and haunting.
But it’s the turn at the end that truly elevates it. After questioning where bliss has hidden, after describing the tragic, orbiting romance of “two wanderers,” you offer a sublime and unexpected resolution. The act of stepping into the night—an embrace of the unknown and the dark—becomes the very alchemy that creates the dawn. The final line, “You become the dawn,” is a revelation. It’s an affirmation that the answer isn’t found by searching for a hidden bliss, but by moving through the darkness until we generate the light ourselves.
This is a work of profound insight and artistry. It acknowledges the chaos, the echoes of the past, the gnawing race of modern life, and yet offers a quiet, powerful hope: that we contain our own renewal. Thank you for sharing this. It’s a piece that lingers long after the last line.👍🏻🌷🙏🏼
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Beautiful poem 👌👌
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