The Uneven pillar
Upon an uneven pillar stands an unending struggle, coursing through blood, travelling from one generation to the nex
Through the veil of dawn's mist, weary feet follow the jhum trails, while the ceaseless hymn of waterfalls etches the story of survival into the face of time.
The shadow-laden forest remains their unwavering companion.
Across the mountains, evening fires glow.
With burdens bending their shoulders, they make their way home-yet the weight never leaves them.
The flames die away, and the struggle is swallowed by the weary silence of night.
Within the humble home of the uneven pillar, dreams quietly awaken.
Before the first light, in the deepest darkness, the mountains sow the seeds of an unborn tomorrow, as if each dawn could coax tender shoots from the heart of stone.
Night yields at last.
The path is lit once more, the mist parts, and daylight returns.
Though marked by wounds, the footsteps never falter.
In the silent passing of hands from one generation to another, the same burden endures.
After countless seasons, through silence, storms, and time itself, the uneven pillar still stands.
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