Written in Silence

Some souls don’t chase the blinding stage, They live between the lines of age. Not carved for fame, nor shaped by fame, But born to set the stars to flame. I wrote a script in desert sand, A tale of fire, of heart, of land. Dubai lights danced upon the sea— And in that dream, she came to me. Her steps were soft, her gaze was dusk, No lines to read, no roles to trust. She was the part I never penned, The unscripted twist that fate would send. She said, “I don’t act—I breathe the scenes.” And so she did, through silent screens. A single look, a whispered line, And suddenly the world was mine. The film—untitled, raw, divine— Wrapped crowds in awe, in tears, in time. And her, the girl not born to star, Became the moon we watched from far. We danced through lights, through press, through fame, But kept our love without a name. No red carpets could ever hold The warmth of nights when hearts unfold. But all great loves must test the tide, As stars must fall, and oceans hide. She left—not loud, not torn apart— But with a kiss inked on my heart. A final scene: she walks away, The desert sun fades into grey. I watch her from the final frame— Not hers to keep, but mine to name. Some loves don’t stay, they just ignite— Like dreams that flicker into night. But if you ever feel her flame, Don’t ask her why… just speak her name.