MOHIT MITRA Poet Rhyme

The Word Before Words

—A Remembrance of the Hidden Flame—


Before the tongue divided silence into names,
Before the first hand carved a sign upon the stone,
There moved a warmth through marrow, dust, and flames,
A light that knew the heart before it was known.
No temple held it, no crowned voice proclaimed—
Yet every soul had carried it unnamed.

I saw an old man mend a broken wooden gate,
His fingers stained with rain and winter's clay;
He left one hinge imperfect, left one nail awry,
As though he knew some things must bend to stay.
Inside, a child had drawn upon the wall
A yellow sun that scarcely shone at all.

The mother kept that drawing years beyond its time,
Though storms had taken colour from the room;
She touched the faded circle in the morning light,
As if a garden still survived the gloom.
And no one watching could have told what moved—
Whether the child had drawn the sun, or love had proved.

For what are we, but echoes learning how to sing?
What are our dreams, but seeds beneath the stone?
The river does not ask the mountain why it flows,
Nor does the root demand the sky its own.
Some mysteries are not to be understood—
They are the forests where the soul once stood.

One night, when all the village lamps were gone,
The moon descended into a well of rain;
A woman looking down saw not her face below,
But every face she had ever lost to pain.
The water spoke no word, revealed no sign—
Yet something in the dark became divine.

Then came a morning no historian shall record,
No trumpet sounded from the vaulted height;
A stranger lifted another stranger from the road,
And carried him beyond the falling night.
Two hands, unknown, beneath a silent sun—
And something ancient whispered they were one.

Perhaps the heavens are not above our sight,
Perhaps they wait within the things we mend;
Perhaps the universe has always leaned toward love,
And only asks our hearts to comprehend.
Perhaps the prayer we seek across the years
Was born before our first remembered tears.

And when the last great walls of separation fall,
When every grief finds mercy's answering flame,
When all the scattered voices of the earth
Return at last to one forgotten name—
No angel shall descend, no star shall proclaim;
The earth itself shall breathe:

Amen.

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