The Hidden Door Behind the Painting

Behind the frame of gilded gold,

A quiet secret waits, untold.

Brushstrokes dance in gentle light,

Yet hide a path from common sight.

Each hue a whisper, each line a clue,

To places where dreams are painted true.

A meadow hums beyond the wall,

Where time stands still, and shadows fall.

I pressed my hand upon the frame,

It pulsed with warmth, it spoke my name.

A breath of wind, a cedar scent,

Through unseen worlds my spirit went.

There lay a lake of silver glass,

Where moments neither fade nor pass.

Laughter echoed from years gone by,

And love still bloomed beneath the sky.

I saw myself — both young and old,

With stories still yet to be told.

The hidden door had shown me more,

Than just a path, it was a core.

It taught me this: we all conceal,

A deeper truth we long to feel.

And if we dare to look behind,

We just might find our truest mind.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi