Desolate
In shadows cast by trees that once stood tall
The whispers of the past in silence dwell.
Where laughter echoed, now the lost birds call,
And memories, like echoes, fade to hell.
The winds blow harsh, and through the ruins crawl,
A haunting chill that weaves a mournful spell.
Each broken stone, a tale of grace long gone,
In desolate beauty, hope has moved on.
Copyright © Mawlid Ganim | Year Posted 2025
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