While The World Wasn't Looking

While the world wasn’t looking, the stones learned to weep, and the ocean—that old blue beggar— knelt down to drink its own salt. While the world wasn’t looking, the vines twisted into alphabets, spelling the names of the forgotten— each letter a green, grasping hand. Love—they were whispering love— not in the tongue of men, but in the slow dialect of roots, in the patient hunger of shadows. While the world wasn’t looking, a child built a city of dust, and the wind—that indifferent thief— stole it grain by grain, not out of malice, but because even the wind must eat. Oh, beloved, what vanishes does not always leave. Some absences grow hands. Some silences learn to sing. While the world wasn’t looking, I loved you like this: not with fire, not with gold, but like the roots love the rain— silent, patient, and unseen