A cosy room of books and green breath,
Light music hums through space.
The air whispers of peace.
Fingers and keys, words and thoughts—
A silent battle simmers beneath.

People often picture a writer in perfect stillness — a serene room, books stacked like old friends, a soft melody drifting through the air. For a long time, I believed in that stillness too. Yet, as I wrote more, I began to sense the tremor beneath it. The peace was an illusion, a fragile veil over a restless mind.

Every act of writing is a confrontation between what we feel and what we can say, between thought and truth. The writer’s solitude isn’t a retreat from the world; it’s the space where the world is rebuilt, word by word.

This poem was born in that contradiction — in the space where calm and chaos meet, where creation itself becomes the battle for peace.

In the Universe of Verses, I write as Pirikli, a South Azerbaijani poet and storyteller tracing the quiet wars within, where every word is both a wound and a way to heal.

If this piece resonated with you, consider supporting it with a coin. Early supporters help sustain my journey and share in the quiet victories of creation.

A cosy room of books and green breath,
Light music hums through space.
The air whispers of peace.
Fingers and keys, words and thoughts—
A silent battle simmers beneath.

People often picture a writer in perfect stillness — a serene room, books stacked like old friends, a soft melody drifting through the air. For a long time, I believed in that stillness too. Yet, as I wrote more, I began to sense the tremor beneath it. The peace was an illusion, a fragile veil over a restless mind.

Every act of writing is a confrontation between what we feel and what we can say, between thought and truth. The writer’s solitude isn’t a retreat from the world; it’s the space where the world is rebuilt, word by word.

This poem was born in that contradiction — in the space where calm and chaos meet, where creation itself becomes the battle for peace.

In the Universe of Verses, I write as Pirikli, a South Azerbaijani poet and storyteller tracing the quiet wars within, where every word is both a wound and a way to heal.

If this piece resonated with you, consider supporting it with a coin. Early supporters help sustain my journey and share in the quiet victories of creation.