Whispers of the Unseen

In the inked shadows of ancient voices,
where history's script fades to memory,
there lies a fragment, forgotten, untold.
Does the wind still carry your name?

Beneath the layers of time's gentle erosion,
echoes of laughter, traces of tears,
entwined like threads of a woven tapestry,
Who will read the unsaid?

Ghosts of yesterday dance in the mist,
their silhouettes woven into the dawn,
a chorus of silence, a symphony of voids,
Will you listen to their song?