The Golden Hour
The Golden Hour
They waited for golden hour with glee,
And some people with gloom.
Juveniles were excited for the first,
minds already drifting elsewhere.
The streets filled with gentle migration-
someone rushing towards their loved ones
And some grudging to solitude.
Yet the night didn't ask who carried joy
And who carried quiet heart.
Cafe blooms with chatters,
while dim room cradle the sound of silence.
The night opens its arm to everyone-
the tired, the eager, the heart broken, the hopeful,
yet each walks into it alone
searching for what the week didn't give.
Time is quintessential of those changes,
Yet none gave thought to it.
They were busy in the life hustle,
well immersed in the endless bustle.
Time moved with silent patience
Unnoticed, yet immense.
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