Hazrat Usman
A lover of technology and Books
You didn’t slam the door You left it half closed Like a maybe like a pause instead of a period No note No echo
By Hazrat Usman Usman6 months ago in Poets
You left before the tea turned cold I didn't notice until the silence steamed up the kitchen Your mug still waits
I spoke just once to the wall Soft like I expected an answer It gave me an echo like a cruel mimic You’re not here
They’re still there where you left them By the door neatly facing forward Like they expect to walk again with you
We left the cups where they stood Not from care but fear One sound might open everything we kept closed So we sat around them like ruins unspoken
Some lights don’t shatter They just fade Quiet soft ashamed to have tried The room doesn’t sigh or notice It just grows
The road knew us once It felt our soles our weight our hesitation But it forgets Wind smoothed the prints we left
No names. No dates. Just stone, weathered and quiet. Grass grows over history. Rain smooths the last traces of their lives.
I used to run back to you. Every crack in the road was a memory we stepped over. But now it’s all blur. The streets don’t recognize me. The doors don’t wait open.
If we die, then let the world know we were here without asking permission. Let the dust carry our names on its back, whispered through cracked windows and broken fences.
From where we begin, humans did not belong they survived. They didn’t arrive with gold, or comfort, or maps. Only with bruised palms, bare feet, and eyes trained on storms.
I used to think I was someone. A brother. A friend. A reason to be missed. Now I hear my name less each day. People speak around me. Through me. Over me.
