Rose Jiyanna

Rose Jiyanna Poems

I counted the days, one by one,
Long before the end had begun.
And then came April 24—still and wild,
A day that stole my inner child.
...

My dear son,

As you grow and move through life,
There will be times when things feel too hard.
...

My Dear Sons,

As time moves on,
The once vivid paths of your life may seem to fade into shadow.
...

Rose Jiyanna Biography

I am a soul who loves poetry beyond words. I find healing not in loud expressions, but in quiet verses. Each line I read or write becomes a shelter for my emotions, a mirror for my thoughts, and a balm for silent wounds. In the rhythm of poetry, I rediscover myself. Between the lines, I find a language that speaks what my heart often cannot say aloud. For me, poetry is not just art—it is a quiet conversation with life itself.)

The Best Poem Of Rose Jiyanna

April 24: The Goodbye That Left Me Empty — 8e

I counted the days, one by one,
Long before the end had begun.
And then came April 24—still and wild,
A day that stole my inner child.
The final bell, the quiet goodbye,
A thousand tears I couldn't cry.

It struck like thunder, without a sound,
My heart in pieces on the ground.
Not all farewells come with a sign—
Some just break you, line by line.

I gave them all I had to give—
My soul, my strength, my will to live.
Thirty-four boys, my 8E stars,
Each one etched like skybound scars.
In that room, I found my place,
Their laughter filled my empty space.

We fought and cried, we healed and grew,
We built a world that felt so true.
In every tear, in every smile,
They walked with me each precious mile.

I was their teacher, firm and fair,
But slowly, love hung in the air.
No textbook taught the path I trod—
To mother them was a gift from God.

Today I stood with trembling grace,
A silent storm behind my face.
I held my tears, I hid my pain,
But inside, I was breaking again.

No long farewell, no closing speech,
Just five small minutes, out of reach.
Yet in that breath, I blessed each one,
As a mother would her dearest son.

Their desks still whisper back my name,
Soft echoes of a sacred flame.
"Miss you Ma'am, " in pencil traced,
Their tender love in silence placed.

I found two notes, and to my dread,
They wrote not ink, but blood instead.
What depth of heart, what silent cry—
What love too vast for goodbye.

Alone tonight, I sit and feel
A sorrow I can barely seal.
Have I grown too close? Have I lost my way?
Or found a truth no words can say?

They changed me, shaped me, held me still,
Taught me more than books could fill.
In them, I saw who I became—
Not just a teacher, but a name.

This ache may stay, but I will rise,
With tear-streaked cheeks and open eyes.
For this is life—both gift and test,
To give your all, then let them rest.

A teacher's heart must always learn
The art of graceful goodbyes.

©Rose Jiyanna

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