"Remember the lake?"
she whispered across the veil of time,
her voice a soft echo in his mind.

"Yes, every detail, every ripple.
Our laughter still dances on the water,"
he replied, his heart aching with
each memory.

"We thought it would last forever,
didn't we?"

"Forever was shorter than we hoped."

A pause, heavy with unspoken regrets.
"Do you ever wish..."

"That I could rewrite the end?
Every day."

"Even if it hurts?"

"Especially because it hurts."

She smiled, a spectral curve of light
in the darkness.
"Then let's rewrite it together."

-

Beneath the azure arch
artfully adorned with a silent shawl
of seraphic silk— clouds cluster,
billowing veils of vaporous visions
whisper secrets of solace,
sewing seams of serenity into
the silent expanse.

-

The papery pages of the tome
breathe beneath the sighs
Of winds that whisper through the waning trees.
Cradled by crinkled leaves of copper and crimson,
in the hush of the haunted half-light,
The soul sips slowly from the sepia-toned scenes,
A cup of quiescence, quietly questioning
The fleeting fabric of forgotten dreams,
Amidst the amber allure of autumn's embrace,
Time tarries, trapped in the translucent glow
Of a languid, lingering sun's last look,
An ephemeral echo in the eternity of existence,
Where words waltz with the wistful wind.

-

Beneath the boughs of bygone burrows,
branches breathe secrets,
Silent sentinels standing, shadows
sketching tales on tattered trails.
A bench, barren and broken, bears the
weight of whispered winters—
Life lingers in lines left longing, a
languid lacuna in the landscape of loss.

-

Grandpa settled deeper into his armchair, eyes distant yet piercing. "Sayu, do you know what a promise is?"

My younger self, eager and bright-eyed, nodded. "Yes, Grandpa! It’s when you say you’ll do something, and then you do it!"

My old man's smile was tinged with sadness. "That's right. But sometimes, life... it twists our promises into things we barely recognize."

"But you always keep yours," I said observing him.

"Aye, I try. But I've learned that the hardest promises are those we must keep to ourselves."

Pondering for a while, finally I asked, "Like what, Grandpa?"

"Like remembering to forgive ourselves when no one else will, my dear chirping chimney

-

Beneath the brittle bones of bare Chinar,
the silence swaddles snow-swept streets—
A canvas cold, where whispered winter weeps,
Its frost-forged tears trace tales
of transient retreats,
An empty artery through Eden,
echoing the elegies of effaced epochs.

-

The tender hues of dawn caressing the sleepy village. Amidst this serene morn, there stood I, a small silhouette against the whispering breeze, drawing water from the stubborn borewell. A rooster, regal in its ruby-feathered majesty, perched atop the creaking handle, heralding the day with its spirited crow. Beside me, a feline companion, cloaked in twilight’s shadow, watched with eyes like moonlit pools. Above, the air thrummed with the melody of chirping birds, their songs weaving through the cool mist. In this tranquil concerto, the pulse of youthful innocence and nature’s chorus intertwined, crafting a moment forever etched in the heart of time.

-

clouds the glint-garbed guardians,
cradle daylight’s daring dance,
each ray a reckless reverie,
each gleam a grace bestowed.
beneath such spectacle,
silence sings in chromatic chords,
painting promises on the vast vault
of the awakening azure.

-

I am the pen poised perpetually, a scribe of the boundless breaths, weaving whispers of the weeping willow winds.

-

In the hallowed hum of the
horizon’s heart,
Death is but a demarcation,
a dewdrop at dawn,
and life—the lingering light,
leaping lavish into the lore-light.

//captioned//

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