barefoot in memories

barefoot in memories

        ~ poems written in the quietest hours

                                             Charu

dedication

to the girl I once was~

I kept choosing everyone over you

I hurt you trying to heal everyone else

I’m sorry it took a lifetime to find my way back

I didn’t know how to love you then

but this book is my first try

I see you now

I’m staying.

preface

these poems began as my companions..

scribbled between days that felt like too much,

and nights that felt like nothing at all.

I wrote them because my hands didn’t know

what else to hold.

between memories and longing,

I tried to find something that felt like home.

for years, I loved like the tide..

giving everything,

forgetting myself in the name of devotion:

in every relationship, every time.

I was left behind more times than I can count.

still, a part of me waited.

still, something soft stayed alive.

this book is what remained,

grace that refused to harden.

if you’ve ever loved so deeply that you blurred at the edges,

if you ever whispered someone else’s name

in a voice that used to belong to you,

I hope you find something here..

a mirror.

a hand reaching back.

a place to rest.

may these poems sit beside you

and remind you that you are

never alone in your ache.

acknowledgement

to my son, Aarav..

you’ve been my reason, even when I had none.

these pages hold more of us.. you and me, than words can name.

I love you, always.

and to you, dear reader..

thank you for holding these words with care.

may they keep you company

in the hush of your hardest hours.

      1. absence   

grief does not leave

it only learns to sit quietly in the corner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

a voice inside whispers ..run

but where does one escape

when the storm rises within?

~~~~~~~~~~~

some days..

my shadow drags behind,

heavier than the steps I take.

other days..

it fades into silence,

as if..

even it has had

enough of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I thought I could outrun it..

the weight of all I buried.

but grief moves faster,

when you pretend,

it isn’t chasing you

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 you left..

but the emptiness stayed.

it lingers..

in spaces I fill,

in memories I unwrite.

I don’t miss you,

but I ache for the me..

who existed before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

some absence speak louder than presence

like a voice that still echoes in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2. solitude

in the hallway tonight,

holding the light,

a little too long..

before switching it off.

solitude stands..

a house with locked doors.

walls leaning

toward the sound of footsteps,

listening..

for a knock.

a quiet hesitation,

a promise unspoken:

‘you don’t have to stand alone.’

~~~~~~~~~

the ache murmurs,

slipping through cracks in stillness.

I patch them with distraction..

but absence seeps in,

a whisper that never fades.

3. hollow

not all storms arrive with thunder,

some slip in unnoticed.

soft as a sigh..

stealing what was never theirs to take.

Betrayal arrives on quiet feet..

unlatching doors left open in trust.

the wound is never where the blade struck,

but in the emptiness it bruised..

a hollow where trust once lived,

ringing..

with what should have been.

4. the grace of empty hands

I poured pure love

into cracked vessels..

believing tenderness could fill,

what was never built to hold.

some hearts echo back,

not because they’re deep..

but because they’re empty.

still, I do not regret the giving,

because even spilled light

leaves warmth on the floor.

5. shards

in the stillness,

I wonder..

if I fell apart,

would someone know how to gather me?

would they see the shards..

as pieces of a life,

still yearning to be whole?

or would they turn away,

mistaking the ruin for weakness,

never knowing

how long I endured..

even while breaking.

6. blur in the frame

once, a cup trembled

before it spilled..

that was me.

too full,

of what no one cared.

I held on

as long as I could..

the pain,

the wanting,

the unbroken rim

of hope.

I am the hands that steady,

the air that waits,

the blur in the frame.

life moves forward

and I remain..

necessary,

unseen,

unnoticed.

some mornings

I wake and wonder..

if I faded,

would the ether swallow my ache?

7. what time leaves behind

time carves at memory,

chiselling until only outlines remain.

some edges are smooth,

others

sharp enough to bleed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

they said time heals,

but time left fingerprints..

etched around my eyes,

worn into

the burden I carry.

I gave and gave,

until giving felt like breathing,

and breathing felt like drowning.

I stood tall

but the ground beneath me

always trembled.

they said time heals..

but healing is a quiet rebellion,

a choice to keep going,

a choice to still believe.

8. hiraeth

the window still open

toward the same sky,

but the warmth

has never learned to stay.

the cushion beside me

remembers the shape of a story..

that was promised,

but left unfinished.

even the floor

has grown tired,

of waiting for footsteps

that never arrived.

and I..

..I fold the longing,

like linen never worn

pretending it once belonged to me.

9. barefoot in memories   

I walk slowly

through old rooms time forgot..

laughter still clings to the corners,

soft as dusk settling,

on the edge of an old desk

where sunlight once spilled..

curtains breathe old stories,

retold in gestures

not for truth,

but for the warmth of remembering..

some rustles sting,

some cradle,

some carry the hush..

of the quiet ways I loved

without saying a word..

the earth greets my step

like it’s been waiting,

with the scent of yesterday’s rain,

and an ache..

that never learned a name.

barefoot in memories,

I move gently..

and somewhere between

what holds and what has gone,

where silence knows me..

I almost smile.

10. quiet glimmer

they say,

stars shine in the dark,

maybe..

people do too,

just the way world forgets to notice.

I’ve seen it..

how a woman sits

in a room with no light,

hands folded..

to hold

what hasn’t

yet fallen apart.

the night does not ask

why she stays..

only time carries

the weight of her waiting.

even the mirror

turns soft..

when she walks past it

..to not break her again.

somehow,

quietly,

beneath the weight of it all,

a glimmer..

maybe not loud enough to call hope..

but something close.

perhaps that’s what light is..

even in the presence of the dark,

a choice,

to glow..

anyway.

11. whispers of the void

in the hush of evening,

when the world draws its edges into quiet corners,

a numbness stretches..
vast,
unyielding..

unravelling the seams of my stillness.

I have walked
through corridors of echoes,

their whispers
brushing my skin..

never staying,
never holding..

a mirage of warmth,
fading into shadow.

there is a longing I cannot name..

a thirst moonlight can’t reach,

an ache
stitched between heartbeats..

where dreams curl,
untouched.

still,
I gather fragments of light..

the soft hum of possibility:

a hand not yet held,

a voice calling quietly..
from the edge of tomorrow.

the void and I..
old companions.

yet tonight,
beneath this sky,

I wonder
if stillness, too,

might remember..
how to speak.

12. silence

it sits beside me,

a patient guest,

who never asks for a chair..

lingers in doorways,

settles between words..

waits beneath my smile.

I reach to name it,

but it slips..

a shadow,
too restless to hold.

loneliness hums..

waits..

knows I’ll answer.

~~~~~~~~~

silences between words

are louder than the storms,

in the spaces we don’t fill..

we leave the echoes of who we are.

~~~~~~~~~~

even breath feels loud

on certain days.

yet,
something small

keeps blooming

..in the cracks.

13. the softening

it doesn’t happen all at once..

some space

between old ache and your breath.

 no more running..

because nothing inside

needs to flee.

sit with your own heart,

it feels like peace.

when you begin to crave..

the soft things,

sunlit corners,

soulful music,

a presence– that doesn’t flinch at quiet.

stop explaining your depth

to those who can’t swim..

and one day,

tears come..

like a river

returning to its bed..

natural,

necessary,

the way dusk

turns everything

blue..

that’s when it shifts..

you see yourself,

with the kind of tenderness

you once waited for.

and when love comes

..there is no shrinking.

welcome it,

as resonance.

and when you rest

your head on his shoulder..

it feels like returning

to a nest

you were building

inside yourself,

all along.

14. threadbare ties 

morning hums with borrowed quiet,

a fragile song sewn into soul..

traces of yesterday linger in the corners,

etched in the hush of memory.

unspoken words lean into the stillness,

folded like petals in old books.

the spine sighs as they open

never revealing the ache that lingered..

life unravelled softly,

stich by hesitant stich,

until only loose ends remained..

frayed,

tangled,

unheld by once-familiar hands.

there is no mending what was lost,

but in the weaving of today,

a quiet strength emerges..

to begin, from the scratch.

I gather threads, one by one

binding them to moments..

that do not fray at the touch.

15. threshold

I build my emptiness into walls,

each brick laid

with trembling hands..

a void lingers,

where love once lived..

still scented with laughter.

I tell myself

it’s better this way..

that walls hold finer

than open doors.

light knocks sometimes..

I don’t answer.

still,

some evenings,

I leave the key

under the mat.

16. if I had the choice

I was never the mountain..

only the path,

worn thin,

beneath weight of wind.

they mistook me for resilient,

but I was only the field,

that bowed,

when the cyclone moved through..

then rose,

because
no one came back

to where I lay..
helpless.

if I had the choice—

I would not be the shelter

I would be

the one allowed in.

I would sit

beside someone

who knows

that pain

has its own weather.

I would not wait

to be shattered,

to be seen.

I would rest—

unfold

like rain

sinking into softened earth,

or starlight-

settling over the water

not to change it,

only

to be

held.

17. fernlight

I found her,

curled like a fern,

in the corners of me

no one visits.

she wore

a paper-thin dress..

of forgotten hours,

knitted

by all the times

no one showed.

I opened the window,

so dusk could breathe with us..

somewhere,
between the hush of twilight settling,

and a breeze that paused.

she reached..

for my hand.

and,

after standing too long

before locked doors.

I opened one..
for her.

18. love, again

love knocked once

..I let it in,

only to watch it leave

with more of me than it gave.

now it waits again,

in a quieter soul..

gentle, patient, serene..

but what if I open the door

and lose everything

I’ve mustered together..

tear by tear.

19. unsaid

there are words I never spoke,

fearing they might slip too easily..

like mist through open fingers,

like something too real to name.

some moments breathe between us

neither past nor future,
just here,

where time folds into itself

and.. I forget where I end.

everything doesnt need a name

every meaning not need to be reached.

some things just are..

like the warmth left behind on fingertips,

like the quiet promise in a lingering gaze,

like a presence that asks for nothing

..yet stays.

20. a tiny pocket of warmth

you are not behind,

you are not broken,

you’re not too late,

you’re not too much,

too soft,

or too tired.

you are a garden between seasons ..

neither blooming, nor lost

just becoming..

you are so beautiful.!

world won’t stop spinning if you rest,

stars don’t vanish when unseen..

even moon

slips away sometimes,

to gather herself.

so if all you did today

was survive..

that’s enough,

that’s alot.

if you’re lonely, remember:

the right ones aren’t just drawn to your smile

they’re drawn to your scars, too..

to sit beside you and say,

 “I am here.. and you are safe.”

21. and yet, the Sun

love drifts back in quiet ways..

sometimes,

what returns is beautiful.

a hand..

steady, warm.

wounds dont ask for answers.

some settle into calm..

blurred and no longer raw,

some bloom into wisdom.

and when night recedes..

the sky,
unhurried,

fills with gold ..once more.

dear reader,

thank you for walking with me,

through all the ache, the quiet, and the remembering.

for holding these poems

with the same tenderness they asked of me.

if even one line stayed with you,

made you feel a little less alone

or reminded you of what you’ve always deserved,

then every word has done its part.

let this be a lighthouse, glowing steady

..in case you ever look up.

may you leave these pages

with a little more warmth

than you came in with.

you were always enough.

with all my love

~ Charu

about the author

Charu writes for those who give endlessly, feel deeply, and love without armour.

she has walked through fire, gathered what remained, and learned to light her own lamp.

barefoot in memories is her debut book~

a quiet offering for anyone finding their way back to themselves.

she believes that in a world that rewards hardness,

gentleness isn’t weakness

..it’s how we stay human.

note from the writer

this book has been a labour of love..
written, edited, and shaped by me, with thoughtful help from AI as a creative companion along the way.

if something in these pages resonated with you, I’d be grateful to hear your reflections.

you can share your thoughts at:

[email protected]

your feedback helps this journey continue.

with gratitude,

Charu

(the name I’ve always belonged to)