In quiet rooms where daylights fade,
and gold turns blue in drifting shade,
my folded thoughts in corners stayed
like forgotten maps, the dusk had made.
But then a whisper stirs the air,
a breath of wind from nowhere,
and one by one they flare to life,
small lanterns waking after night.
Like paper wings, they rise and glide,
moths escaping where they hide;
they rustle softly as they climb,
spilling dusts of ancient time.
Unfurling secrets kept inside,
they peel like bark, the years supplied;
each crease undone, each shadow caught,
reveals the roots beneath each thought.
They open slow, in silent blooms,
moonlit petals, through the rooms;
a timid spark, a sudden gleam,
a river shining in a dream.
And as they blossom, soft and bright,
they stain the dark with trembling light,
for every thought that once seemed small
unfolds to show, it knew it all.
©®Madhumita
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