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Utkarsh Soni Poem
A phantom scent of falling rain,
A gentle hand to calm the pain,
A whispered song when shadows creep,
To guide the weary soul to sleep.
Though time may steal the vivid face,
And silence fill her empty place,
She is the root beneath the stone,
The light that leads the wanderer home.
An echo woven in the blood,
A sheltering and quiet wood.
The first to love, the last to leave,
The truest breath her child receives.
Copyright © Utkarsh Soni | Year Posted 2026
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