Dust on Their Names

No names.
No dates.
Just stone,
weathered
and quiet.

Grass grows
over history.
Rain smooths
the last
traces
of their lives.

They were.
Then
they weren’t.

And now
even memory
has left them.

No one
comes here.
No one lights
a candle.
No one whispers
“I remember.”

I walk
among them.
Each step
a question.
Each breath
a prayer
for someone
I never knew.

How many dreams
died
with no witness?
How many voices
were silenced
before they
ever rose?

They don’t ask
for much.
Just not
to be erased.

But silence
is louder
than mourning.
And time
is ruthless
with the forgotten.