The wind knelt low in silent prayer,
To flames that rained but left no flare.
Ashes whispered her hidden tune,
Fading beneath a weeping moon.
The stars unstitched their silver seam,
None dared to spell her broken dream.
A clock without its hands still cried,
Counting the hours, love had died.
She turned to smoke, a tender blur,
The air still trembles remembering her.
Dreams wear her scent, then drift away,
While dawn betrays the night’s decay.
The moon carved grief on shifting sand,
Her name still burns where I once stood.
A letter turned to crimson sky,
And the fire forgot to die.
This was written by our contributing writer, Habibul Bashar.
Image Source: Unsplash, Rylan Hill
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