There is a silence now,
not the kind that soothes,
but the kind that echoes—
a hollow, endless stretch
between the world once framed.
I sense the lost shape of your absence
in the air where you once stood,
fingers reaching for shadows
that dissolve into nothing.
The clock ticks even louder in the hollow,
its rhythm mocking the stillness,
counting moments now arid.
The absence of stately smile does
Chase the journey to oblivion.
The jubilant laughter once was the sun,
warming every corner of this life.
Now, the cold creeps in,
soft but relentless,
a quiet defalctor in the night.
The journey of life appears two shores,
divided by an ocean of time,
the tide drifting you farther,
and this cascade is left to wander
Till the breath melts into infinite.
By Manoj Kumar Mishra
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