Poems

They whisper in the quiet dark,  like wind that bends but leaves no mark.  Their echoes weave through silent halls,  unheard behind the iron walls.  Their words, a spark, a burning plea,  a song suppressed, yet wild and free.  A truth the tyrants seek to drown,  beneath the weight of crown and gown.  But silence…

In fields where silence used to grow,  Now echoes thunder, sorrow’s throw.  The sky, once blue, now weeps with fire,  Dreams drown beneath the ash and mire.  Steel meets flesh in senseless rage,  A cruel script on history’s page.  No victor’s song, no glory’s name,  Just nameless graves and endless shame.  Why spill the blood…

I walk alone where waves collapse,  soft footprints swallowed in the sand.  The wind still hums in hushed relapse,  as if it knows, as if it planned.  The salt still lingers on my skin,  like ghosts of kisses long set free.  The echoes of where we had been  now drift apart, now drown at sea. …