# One More Sunrise #

Healing is not usually a sudden change. It often comes in quiet moments—in kindness, laughter, and the bravery to take another step when the way is unclear. This poem speaks of loss, strength, and the gentle power needed to keep going.

It honors those who have faced hardships and still rise, finding hope in just being.

# One More Sunrise #

There was a time
when I believed healing
would arrive like thunder—

a sudden miracle,
a grand announcement
from the heavens above.

Instead, it came softly.

It arrived in ordinary moments:
a deep breath after tears,
a sunrise I almost ignored,
a hand extended
when I had forgotten
how to ask for help.

Life did not return
what it had taken.

Some names still echo
through abandoned hallways
of memory.
Some goodbyes remain unfinished,
their last words
floating somewhere between
yesterday and forever.

I have stood
in seasons of loneliness,
where even the stars
seemed too distant
to hear my prayers.

I have carried grief
like a hidden stone,
tucked beneath the fabric
of my daily smile.

Yet somehow,
the heart continues.

Not because it is unbreakable,
but because it learns
how to beat
through the cracks.

I found courage
not in victory,
but in survival.

In getting out of bed
when sorrow weighed like winter.
In speaking kindly to myself
on days
when self-doubt shouted louder
than hope.

Little by little,
I began collecting reasons
to stay.

The scent of rain
on thirsty earth.

The laughter of strangers.

A familiar song
arriving at the right moment.

The quiet certainty
that every ending
leaves behind
a doorway unseen.

And so I walk on.

Not fearless,
but willing.

Not whole,
but healing.

Not certain,
but trusting
that each step
creates a path.

If life has taught me anything,
it is this:

We are not measured
by how rarely we fall,
but by how gently
we rise again.

The scars remain,
yet they no longer define
the landscape of my soul.

They are simply evidence
that I was here,
that I loved,
that I lost,
that I endured.

And today,
standing between
all I have survived
and all that is yet to come,

I offer gratitude
for this imperfect journey.

For the tears.
For the lessons.
For the unexpected grace.

For the simple miracle
of still being here.

Breathing.

Growing.

Becoming.

And perhaps,
in the end,

that is enough.

(Vijay Verma)
www.retiredkalam.com



Categories: kavita

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10 replies

  1. A touhing tribute to all those who fight the battle of life, getting knocked down and getting back up and moving forward as best they can. What do they think of, who do they think of, what motivates them to go on. We will all find out in time. Have a wonderful day. Allan

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Allan, for your thoughtful and heartfelt words. Life certainly tests us all in different ways, yet hope, love, faith, and the support of others often give us the strength to rise again. Your reflection beautifully captures the resilience of the human spirit. Wishing you a wonderful day as well, and thank you for your continued encouragement. 🙏😊

      Liked by 1 person

  2. very nice .

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Verma ji, Your poetry has a beautiful way of embracing pain without letting it overshadow hope. Every line reminds us that healing is less about becoming perfect and more about choosing to keep moving forward. A truly soulful and inspiring read. 🤍🦋

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for your thoughtful and encouraging words. 🙏

      I’m truly touched that you found hope within the poem. That was my sincere intention—to acknowledge pain without allowing it to define us. I believe healing is not about becoming perfect, but about finding the courage to take one more step, even when the path feels uncertain

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  4. This is a profoundly beautiful and deeply moving piece of writing. The imagery—especially “carried grief like a hidden stone, tucked beneath the fabric of my daily smile”—speaks with such raw honesty that it resonates in the chest. The quiet, unhurried rhythm of the poem mirrors the very healing it describes: gentle, persistent, and earned.

    Verma ji, you have crafted something truly special here. Your voice carries both the weight of sorrow and the lightness of hope, and you’ve managed to articulate the in-between space—the liminal place where healing actually happens—with remarkable grace.

    The closing lines are particularly powerful: “Breathing. Growing. Becoming.” It’s a reminder that simply continuing is itself an act of courage.

    Thank you for sharing this gift with us. May your words continue to find their way to those who need them most, and may you always find reasons to stay. 🙏

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