A note, a whisper, Falling like autumn leaves, Cascades of sound, Filling the empty spaces Of a heart once still. Strings hum, a silent call, Pulses, beating rhythms, A dance of fingers, Brushing against the wind, Lost in a timeless embrace. A melody unfolds, Cracks in the silence, Echoes of forgotten dreams, Glimmers of starlight, Caught in a net of chords. The piano weeps, Soft and tender, A lullaby for the weary, A refuge for the broken, Notes dissolving into twilight. Trumpets burst, golden dawn, A clarion call, a new day, Feet tapping, hearts racing, In the dance of life, Where music is the soul's language. Whispers of a violin, Lonely yet hopeful, A story untold, Written in the spaces Between the rising and falling notes. A drumbeat, the heartbeat, Of a thousand souls, Unified, transcendent, Bound by invisible threads, Woven into a tapestry of sound. Guitar strings sing, Voices intertwining, A harmony born of chaos, Finding order, finding peace, In the symphony of existence. And there, in the quiet aftermath, Where echoes fade to nothing, A silence filled with promise, A space where music begins anew, In the scribbles of a poet's mind. ©twisha ray

twisha ray

Being the person to heal your family lineage is not easy. You carry all the weight on your shoulders. You swallow all the trauma, karma, shame, bad memories, and secrets of your family so you can blank the canvas for the next generation. If this is you, it’s okay to change new habits ©twisha ray

twisha ray

A note, a whisper, Falling like autumn leaves, Cascades of sound, Filling the empty spaces Of a heart once still. Strings hum, a silent call, Pulses, beating rhythms, A dance of fingers, Brushing against the wind, Lost in a timeless embrace. A melody unfolds, Cracks in the silence, Echoes of forgotten dreams, Glimmers of starlight, Caught in a net of chords. The piano weeps, Soft and tender, A lullaby for the weary, A refuge for the broken, Notes dissolving into twilight. Trumpets burst, golden dawn, A clarion call, a new day, Feet tapping, hearts racing, In the dance of life, Where music is the soul's language. Whispers of a violin, Lonely yet hopeful, A story untold, Written in the spaces Between the rising and falling notes. A drumbeat, the heartbeat, Of a thousand souls, Unified, transcendent, Bound by invisible threads, Woven into a tapestry of sound. Guitar strings sing, Voices intertwining, A harmony born of chaos, Finding order, finding peace, In the symphony of existence. And there, in the quiet aftermath, Where echoes fade to nothing, A silence filled with promise, A space where music begins anew, In the scribbles of a poet's mind. ©twisha ray

twisha ray

Being the person to heal your family lineage is not easy. You carry all the weight on your shoulders. You swallow all the trauma, karma, shame, bad memories, and secrets of your family so you can blank the canvas for the next generation. If this is you, it’s okay to change new habits ©twisha ray

twisha ray