Still, something by Aditya Gupta | One Poem Only

Still, something by Aditya Gupta | One Poem Only

Author: Maggie Devers February 19, 2026 Duration: 2:23

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.

Still, something

Aditya Gupta

I stopped praying long ago.
The gods grew tired of my voice,
or maybe I just grew tired
of asking for things
that never came.

My wallet’s thin,
my dreams thinner
a handful of words
no one cared to read.

Even my parents’ eyes
look at me like unfinished work,
a draft they wish they could rewrite.

And love,
she always leaves
before the song begins.
I’ve learned the sound of silence
that follows a “maybe next time.”

But sometimes,
in the middle of all that noise,
a small thought hums
that maybe I’m still here
for a reason I don’t yet know.

Maybe the words I failed to write are still forming inside me.
Maybe faith
is not about believing in God,
but believing
that the broken can still be beautiful.

And maybe one day,
someone will see me
not as a failure,
but as a boy who kept trying
to love the world
even when it forgot his name.

More from Aditya Gupta ↓

  1. @serenadeinsilhouettes on Instagram

Support + Stay Connected to OPO

If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.

Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.

Mentioned in this episode:

Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem Only

Write After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.

#WriteAfterOPO


Each day, One Poem Only offers a brief, deliberate pause. Hosted by Maggie Devers, this podcast is built on a simple, consistent premise: a single poem, read aloud, without analysis or introduction. It’s an audio space where the words themselves are the event, a performance meant to be absorbed in the few minutes it takes to hear it. The daily rhythm of the show creates a quiet ritual, a point of reflection woven into a busy life. You might hear a classic sonnet, a piece of modern free verse, or a work from a poet you’ve never encountered. The selection is varied, touching on themes from the natural world to the intricacies of human emotion, always leaving room for your own interpretation. The effect is cumulative; listening regularly becomes a subtle form of education in the sound and scope of poetry, and a small act of self-care. This isn't a lecture or a book club, but a performing art delivered directly to your ears. Maggie’s clear, thoughtful readings provide the only framework needed, allowing each poem to stand entirely on its own. The curtain falls, and the moment passes, but the podcast invites you to return tomorrow when a new piece takes center stage, offering another quiet moment, one poem only.
Author: Language: English Episodes: 355

One Poem Only
Podcast Episodes
The Dream by Edna St. Vincent Millay [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:08
The Dream Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892 – 1950 Love, if I weep it will not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care;Foolish am I to think about it, But it is good to feel you there.Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,…
We never know how high we are (1176) by Emily Dickinson [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:35
We never know how high we are Emily Dickinson 1830 – 1886 We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies—The Heroism we recite Would be a daily thi…
Sunday Recap & Mother by Maggie Devers [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 6:50
Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. May 5 - How often we greet each other with worries by Maggie Devers May 6 - Renewal of Strength by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Ma…
What the Thrush Said by John Keats [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:05
What the Thrush Said John Keats 1795 –1821 O Thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,And the black elm tops ’mong the freezing stars,To thee the spring will be a harves…
Circe by H.D. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:00
Circe H.D. 1886 – 1961 It was easy enoughto bend them to my wish,it was easy enoughto alter them with a touch,but youadrift on the great sea,how shall I call you back?Cedar and white ash,rock-cedar and sand plantsand tam…
Held by Maggie Devers [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:36
Held Maggie Devers The sweetest meat is closest to the boneThe most tender, the most trueThe tissue there is hardest to reach,To manipulate from the outside.If you squeezed my armHow much bone would you feel?Would the fl…
For My Daughter by Maggie Devers [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:00
For My Daughter by Maggie Devers Chop off my head and put it on your shield.I will protect you until the day I dieAnd all the days after that.You think I would let anything harm the perfection that sprang from my body?Th…
Renewal of Strength by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:52
Renewal of Strength Frances Ellen Watkins Harper 1825 – 1911 The prison-house in which I liveIs falling to decay,But God renews my spirit’s strengthWithin these walls of clay.For me a dimness slowly creepsAround earth’s…
How often we greet each other with worries by Maggie Devers [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:51
How often we greet each other with worries by Maggie Devers I went to the wilderness to escapeAnd there are worries there too.Caterpillars falling from their treeBefore their chrysalis is completeMy weekend project was t…
A Lady by Amy Lowell [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:49
A Lady by Amy Lowell 1874 – 1925 You are beautiful and faded,Like an old opera tunePlayed upon a harpsichord;Or like the sun-flooded silksOf an eighteenth-century boudoir. In your eyesSmoulder the fallen roses of outlive…