Nameless Graves

They lie
beneath the soil
no name,
no stone,
no dates to mark
when they began
or when they ended.

Just dirt,
just time,
just absence.

The wind passes over
but doesn’t stop.
The world keeps moving
as if
they never stood in it.

No flowers
left behind.
No candle
burning.
No voice
to speak
their truth.

Were they mothers?
Fathers?
Children who never
grew old?
Dreamers
whose dreams
were stolen
too soon?

They had names once.
Laughed once.
Cried,
loved,
feared,
hoped.

Now, only
echoes remain
soft,
invisible,
weightless.

But I see them.
I feel them
in the quiet places
where no one looks.

I write
so their silence
is not the end.
So their stories
don’t vanish
like smoke
in wind.

Nameless
but never forgotten.