STAR TRUE BRILLIANT

🧠 The Brain, The Home, and The Balance Poem The brain — commander of all, Conductor of silence and call, Threefold it stands, parts divine, Each with its duty, steady in line. Yet, who does the brain depend on? Silent whispers, the body has drawn; Organs falter, diseases grow, But why they fail, we do not know. The brain seeks never its own despair, Still illness strikes from earth and air; If the brain falls — all ends with it, If an organ falls — we cut and split. At home too, a leader must rise, Not husband nor wife in disguise, But one clear brain — balanced, bright, Healthy, wealthy, and wise in light. When wisdom fades, imbalance reigns, The family crumbles, love feels chains; So the brain within the home must be, A guide to joy, in unity. Shielded in skull, with sacred parts, The brain demands both strength and arts; Through yoga deep, the cells revive, Oxygen makes new thoughts alive. Sit and sway, with open eyes, Learn by heart — let wisdom rise; Then write anew from l...

--- 🌿 Poem "Whispers of the Kidneys" Two beans of life, resting beneath the chest, left a little higher, right a little less— yet both sing the same song, filtering rivers of blood in silent rhythm. Water flows like blessing, yet too much may wound the stone; balance is the secret river, balance is the hidden throne. If one sleeps, the other wakes, carrying double burdens, a faithful twin. We know— one alone can hold our life. So I dream— why not let them rest in turns? Walk from the right, write with the right, lie on the right— let the left awaken in its quiet duty. Yoga calls— bend, fold, breathe, attach the knee to chest, let stillness touch the hidden springs. Honey after meal, water after waiting, saliva upon the back— small mysteries of care. The kidneys whisper: "We are humble, we are hidden, yet we keep your world clean. Honor us, live in rhythm, walk with balance, and we shall serve you for as long as breath allows." --- ✨ English Analysis This poem blend...

--- 🌿 Poem "Song of Healing Cells" Cancer is a shadow, a whisper of cells gone astray, they invade, they wander, yet they began as part of us. The question is not always why, but how to return harmony— to cure, to calm, to change the storm back into still water. Abnormal cells stand apart, yet normal cells wait, stronger when nourished by the gifts of nature. Honey—pure, golden, eternal, taken with care, morning and noon, but never at the fall of evening. The sun, a healer, its gentle rays cradle the body, thirty minutes of warmth, Vitamin D turning weakness to strength, and the restless cells lose their power to spread. Exercise, the rhythm of life— running, working, breathing with force, mouth closed, breath deep, oxygen flows, and disease finds no home. Yoga, the stillness of being— walking slowly, standing quietly, reciting the verses of the heart. The eyes, too, must learn to rest and move. Thus the body remembers balance, the spirit remembers light, and where oxygen fi...

. --- ✨ Poem "The Float of the Body" When appendix turns to pain, We call it appendicitis. It stirs the body, Hurts the heart, Even life may fade away. We know its cause, We know its time, Yet cannot protect it always. So doctors cut, Remove the float, From the river of our flesh. But I believe— Appendix is not useless. At first, A gentle ache whispers On the right side of the belly. Some take pills, Some change food, Some drink water lightly at noon. Later they fill the stomach, Later they bend their knees, Chest to thigh, Seeking comfort in posture. The best yoga: Sit on the back thigh, Fold the left beneath the right, Raise the right heel, Hold for ten minutes, Three times a day. At last, I say with faith— Appendix is like a fishing float: Its trembling signals, That something unseen Waits beneath the surface. --- 🔎 Analysis (English) This poem transforms medical fact into metaphor. The appendix, often dismissed as “useless,” is here imagined as a fishing float—a delicate...

🌿 The Secret of White Hair We all have known the silver strand, That whispers softly, “time is at hand.” We think with age the color will fade, Till all black locks turn to white parade. A vessel of white seems older still, Though the heart inside is young and will. The shame they feel, they try to hide, With chemical dyes on every side. But dyes, though bright, are poisons near, They bring tomorrow’s hidden fear. Few ask the cause, the truth, the core, Why black hair fades, what lies in store. Melanin lost—the reason clear, The pigment gone, the white appears. Yet melanin does much more, you see, It guards our health, immunity. So care for it, in simple ways, Not chemicals, but nature’s rays. The morning sun, the honey sweet, Soft silt for hair, so pure, complete. Not shampoos false, but gentle tea, Three days a week—it sets hair free. Thus wisdom grows, if we repair, The hidden secret of white hair. --- 🔎 English Analysis This poem explores the mystery of white hair, not only as a ...

🌾 The Sparrow, the Crow, and the King of the Forest Poetic Version On a farmer’s roof one sunny day, Wheat and chilies were spread in array. A net was laid to catch small birds, A sparrow saw, without many words. On the way, a crow did meet, “Where are you going, little one, sweet?” The sparrow thought, friend may deceive, So a clever reply it did weave. “I go to kill you,” the sparrow lied, The crow then laughed and thus replied: “Let’s have a contest, let’s both compete, Who spoils more chilies with their beak?” The crow had won, the sparrow was caught, But the sparrow was clever, quick in thought. “First wash your beak, for chilies burn, Or pain in your stomach you soon will learn.” The crow then sought the river’s grace, But the river refused with stern face: “If fox and dog drink, that is their way, But you are different — go away.” The crow then searched from place to place, A pot from the potter, some soil to trace. The ox refused, the dog demanded, The cow was hungry, empty-ha...

🌿 The Heart’s Gentle Discipline A heart that beats with steady song, Keeps the spirit forever young. Age is not the years we live, But the strength our heart can give. At forty, if the heart grows weak, Fear of life begins to speak. “Shall I fall? Shall I die?”— Such dark clouds fill the sky. Doctors guide with gentle care, “Eat with wisdom, beware! Take your medicine, guard each breath, Or face the surgeon’s sharpened death.” Yet hope remains, a healing art, Simple practice to guard the heart. Do not let your hands just fall, Place them close, protect them all. On chest, on belly, on thighs they rest, Giving the heart a tender test. Stand, then bend, then sit with grace, Palms on body, a healing place. Morning light and evening glow, Repeat the rhythm, soft and slow. Ten times daily, this you keep, Your heart will strengthen, never sleep. --- English Analysis This poem reflects the philosophy that youth is not measured by age, but by the vitality of the heart. A person may be young a...