Poetry

I carry stories
like folded maps in my pocket
not drawn to lead,
but to be opened
by those who are simply curious.

There are moments,
Soft as dusk and light as morning,
that ink holds better than memory.

I don’t write for claps
or the brightness of eyes wide with wonder
I write because
somewhere in the quiet,
something listens back.

If you're not here to chase,
but just to walk,
to read without running
then maybe,
you were always meant
to find this thread.

So… if you're ready, .... !