The Whispering Walls Poem by Sumita Jetley

Tara once painted on city walls,
Stories that spoke without loud calls.
Murals stretched in colors bright,
Bringing quiet truths to morning light.

But screens replaced the art she made,
Her murals lost, her craft delayed.
So online she took her painted dreams,
Where chaos ruled in viral streams.

Her brother Dev, with data sly,
Said, "Beauty fades—let outrage fly.
Feed the beast, stir up the crowd,
The algorithm loves what's loud."

Reluctant, Tara changed her tone,
Painting clashes she'd never own.
Each stroke became more strange, more wild,
Till fame arrived and fortune smiled.

But fame, it came with heavy cost—
Friendships fractured, kindness lost.
A message struck her heart one night:
'Thanks to your art, I've lost my light.'

Regret bloomed deep inside her chest,
This was not the life she'd pressed.
She faced her brother, eyes aware—
"This chaos is too much to bear."

Dev shrugged and said, "It's just a game.
The beast moves on—just do the same."

Next morning, Tara made her stand,
A quiet mural by her hand.
Two souls with tea beneath a tree,
No drama, only peace to see.

She shared it without a viral plea,
No hashtags, no strategy.
The post lay still for days unseen,
Buried beneath the trending stream.

But slowly whispers found their way,
To hearts that craved a softer day.
'Thank you, ' one wrote, 'for showing me,
That small moments are where we're free.'

And so she painted, calm and slow,
Letting simple truths quietly grow.
Dev watched as peace began to rise—
Not in numbers, but in eyes.

For Tara learned what few could see:
The fringe shouts loud, but not with glee.
True art whispers, soft and clear,
And those who listen, always hear.