Hazrat Usman
A lover of technology and Books
She wrote the letter, each word heavy, carved from her soul, filled with hope and fear. Promises whispered softly, fears wrapped in silence, love caught in between the lines she never sent.
By Hazrat Usman Usman6 months ago in Poets
You promised forever gone. Forever slipped away. Like fading shadows. Shadows at dawn. The clock slows. Seconds feel heavy. Empty spaces remain. You’re not here.
Every night, he climbed the hill. Not to wish. Not to cry. Just to wait. The moon, they said, had moved on. But he hadn’t.
She didn’t chase people. She caught echoes. When they left, she listened not to footsteps, but to the spaces they forgot to fill.
They said he walked with no shadow because his past refused to follow him. He didn’t speak. He burned. Not with rage, but with memory. Not with light, but with truth too hot to hold.
The sky cracked not open, but inward. As if it remembered every secret we tried to bury beneath time. Birds vanished mid-flight. Clocks spun backward. And my name it echoed from the mouths of people I’d never met.
It came not with fire, not with screams, but with a silence that bent the trees. The sky cracked gently — not in anger, but in grief.
They said the world would end with flame, But it ended with a whisper — no one came. No trumpet blast, no marching feet, Just silence sleeping on every street.
Darkness creeps Silent, slow. Fear whispers No one knows. Shadows stretch, Cold and deep, Hiding secrets We cannot keep. Eyes are closed, Hearts are tight, Waiting, waiting For the light.
When the world fell quiet, Not a whisper, not a sound— No birds in the sky, no engines on ground. Yet from the stillness, a voice arose, Speaking truths no one supposed.
I miss the days when life was small and happiness was just a candy in my hand. I miss the mornings with cartoons and no alarms, the smell of home and the sound of mama's voice calling me to eat.
Why? Again, I'm here— Holding broken pieces That don’t fit the same way anymore. I promised I’d never return To the same wound Wearing a new name. But here I am, bleeding softly.
