From the Book Sereya Hoyo
by Titus Kujur
These poems are the first whispers from Sereya Hoyo — a collection that drifts between dream and memory.
They speak of love that lingers, silence that heals, and the quiet ache of being human.
Each verse is a fragment of a larger journey — one that begins here, in these three poems.
May you find in them the pulse of your own forgotten song.
The king with crown upon his brow,
Claims bravery in every vow.
He speaks of courage, bold and grand,
But shields of steel are in his hand.
For what is strength without a sword,
What is a monarch without the horde?
Even the mightiest heart shall know,
The fear that whispers soft and low.
For courage isn’t just the fight,
It’s facing shadows in the night.
A warrior’s strength, a king’s command,
Are fragile things in shifting sand.
He calls for armies to protect,
To guard his throne and to deflect
The storms that rage, the winds that howl,
The dangers lurking on the prowl.
And yet within his guarded heart,
A fear, a doubt, may still take part.
A man may rise and boldly stand,
But who protects when he is unmanned?
No crown, no title, no great might,
Can shield the soul from deepest fright.
For even kings, in their repose,
Are touched by fear that softly grows.
The sword, the shield, the soldier’s might,
Cannot erase the darkest night.
The storm may come, the rain may fall,
And even kings may feel so small.
There is no shame in fearing deep,
For even the bravest hearts may weep.
The strength of man is not in pride,
Or in the steel he keeps inside.
It’s in his courage to confess,
That even giants may feel less.
To rise, to face the truth unbowed,
Though sheltered ‘neath a thundercloud.
For courage lies not in the fight,
But in the choice to face the night.
The king may reign, the monarch rule,
But in their hearts, they’re still the fool,
If they refuse to see the fear,
That makes us human, makes us dear.
There’s power in the simple truth,
That all may tremble, all may soothe.
No shame in saying “I am small,”
For in that truth, we rise, we call.
For courage is not the absence of dread,
But the strength to move where angels tread.
So wear your armour, raise your shield,
But never let your truth be sealed.
A mighty king, a fearless knight,
Are those who face the endless fight.
And in their hearts, they know the cost—
That courage comes when fear is lost.
Not in the sword, nor in the crown,
Not in the might to hold it down,
But in the humble, tender plea,
To see the truth that sets you free.
For even kings, in their repose,
Are touched by fear that softly grows.
And when they fall, or when they rise,
They stand as human, with open eyes.
The greatest strength that kings may claim,
Is knowing fear and still the same.
For in that truth, they boldly stand,
With fragile hearts, and trembling hand.
2
The Little Match Girl
Upon the streets of London’s night,
In bitter cold, devoid of light,
A little girl, with heart so pure,
Set forth to sell her wares obscure.
Her hands were numb, her face so pale,
She cried her wares, a quiet wail.
“Matches for sale, to light your way,”
But no one listened, none would pay.
With hollow eyes, she walked alone,
A child of hunger, cold as stone.
The bustling crowd, so full of cheer,
Unnoticed passed the girl in fear.
Their hearts were set on joy and song,
Preparing for the night so long.
To welcome Christ, the King, the Lord,
Yet overlooked the soul ignored.
She asked for warmth, she asked for food,
But none would spare a thought or mood.
They saw her not, a street-bound face,
Only a nuisance in their place.
They hurried past, with heartless stride,
In festive cheer, they did collide.
But she, so small, so cold, alone,
Continued on, with heavy tone.
Her matchsticks flickered in the breeze,
Her eyes were clouded, desperate pleas.
The Christmas bells rang far and wide,
But she, alone, had none beside.
Her stomach hollow, her spirit frail,
She whispered prayers, a silent wail.
“Let someone see, let someone care,
Before the cold takes me somewhere.”
But no one stopped, no one did pause,
As Christmas cheer gave no applause.
Her tiny hands, so pale and thin,
Clutched onto hope with trembling skin.
The streets were filled with laughter bright,
Yet she, a child, was lost to night.
Her body frail, her spirit weak,
But still she cried, so brave, so meek.
Until, at last, she felt her knees,
And fell amidst the winter’s freeze.
Her little voice, so faint and small,
Cried out for warmth, but none would call.
The snow around her cold and deep,
The silence wrapped her as she wept.
Her heart was heavy, filled with pain,
Yet through the sorrow, she remained.
Then came the dogs, so wild, so free,
A pack that roamed with loyalty.
They huddled close, with gentle care,
To warm her up, to ease despair.
A steak of meat, so soft and bright,
One dog brought forth to end her plight.
A mouse, so small, so quick, so light,
Brought bread to ease her frozen night.
Yet she, with heart so full of grace,
Refused to eat, to save her place.
She fed them first, with love and care,
Her hunger gone, her heart laid bare.
For she knew love is not for gain,
It’s given freely through the pain.
She held them close, no words to say,
But in her heart, she found her way.
And in that warmth, she drifted deep,
To sleep, to dream, to peaceful keep.
Her smile, so faint, a light so pure,
Her spirit free, her heart secure.
She thanked them all, with silent song,
And in their warmth, she felt so strong.
The dogs, the mice, the kindness shown,
In them, her love had fully grown.
But when the morning sun did rise,
And church bells rang through open skies,
The people passed, as they did before,
Yet saw the child, who walked no more.
Upon the street, amidst the snow,
A little girl, so still, so low.
Her smile remained, though she had died,
A peaceful joy, where pain had lied.
They knelt beside her, hearts filled with grief,
But none could answer her silent plea.
Her face was calm, no trace of fear,
Her spirit free, her heart sincere.
Yet in that smile, a message lay,
Of love and kindness every day.
For even in the darkest night,
She found her peace, her shining light.
The world may pass and not be seen,
The pain, the hunger, in between.
But kindness, love, is always near,
For those who open hearts to hear.
The little match girl, in her strife,
Showed us the beauty of a life.
Not in the wealth, nor in the song,
But in the love that carries on.
Her gift was small, yet full of grace,
She gave her warmth, she found her place.
In all the chaos, in all the noise,
She found her peace, her heart’s true voice.
She taught us all, through bitter cold,
That love is given, not bought or sold.
And in the end, when all is done,
It’s love that lights the darkest sun.
So let us learn from her pure soul,
To feed the hungry, make them whole.
To see the ones who cry in vain,
And feel the sorrow, feel the pain.
For in their eyes, we find our truth,
That love is not the pride of youth.
It’s not the wealth, the fame, the name,
But the kindness that remains the same.
So may we walk with open eyes,
And see beyond the world’s disguise.
For in each soul, a light does burn,
And in each heart, there’s room to learn.
The little match girl, so cold, so kind,
Leaves us a lesson to remind.
That in the coldest, darkest night,
It’s love that keeps our hearts alight.
I saw the castle, proud and high,
A silhouette against the endless sky.
A blade of stone, it pierced the air,
Defying time with a noble glare.
Its towers rose like a lion’s mane,
Yet shorn of gold, it bore no chain.
No banners waved, no flags were flown,
Still, it claimed the land as its throne.
A crownless king on a barren field,
Its grandeur stood, a timeless shield.
No jewels adorned its weathered face,
But still, it guarded its silent space.
The winds howled loud through broken walls,
Their echoes danced in the hollowed halls.
Shadows lingered, long and deep,
Whispering secrets the stones still keep.
Once, its gates welcomed the brave,
Now they stand as a sentinel’s grave.
A sentinel strong, though its heart is gone,
A monument to battles won.
It watched as armies came and fled,
And drank the blood of the countless dead.
Its moat lay dry, its drawbridge cracked,
Yet its spirit remained intact.
O mighty castle, so lone, so stark,
A beacon still, through the endless dark.
No beasts nor men dare cross your keep,
Where memories of kings forever sleep.
The land you guard lies desolate, bare,
Yet still, you linger, forever aware.
The prey you shield is not of flesh,
But time itself, in its endless mesh.
You rise, a sentinel bound by stone,
A monument to what was once known.
Your roar is silent, yet loud it rings,
A hymn to forgotten queens and kings.
Through storms and stars, through dusk and dawn,
You remain, though your lords are gone.
No mortal reign can your spirit confine,
A fortress eternal, the years define.
And as I gaze, the world stands still,
Your presence commands my trembling will.
A crownless king, yet a king you are,
A lonely star, no matter how far.
The sun sets low, the shadows blend,
Your tale, O castle, will never end.
In barren lands, where few would tread,
You rise as a sovereign of the dead.
The winds may strip, the rains erode,
Yet you remain, a timeless ode.
A testament to what stands tall,
When kingdoms crumble and empires fall.
O Crownless King, with silent grace,
Your majesty no age can displace.
Forever you’ll stand, a mark of time,
A fortress eternal, a song sublime.