By Sonakchi Pradhan
I suffer in silence, a shadow unseen,
Pretending to be dead in the world’s routine.
A ghost among the living, I quietly tread,
Carrying echoes of words unsaid.
But here I stand, out under the sun,
Its warmth a solace, though battles aren’t won.
Fragrant winds whisper through the air,
As if to remind me, I’m still somewhere.
In the glow of light, my mask may fade,
Yet I hold on, in this quiet charade.
For even the sun, with its golden thread,
Cannot unbind the silence I’ve wed.
By Sonakchi Pradhan
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