Inside the quiet corners of my mind,
where unlit words and shadows sleep,
a soft wind stirs,
ideas loosen from their hinge,
drifting like paper birds
in a room without a ceiling.
One thought unfurls,
creases smoothing in the light,
revealing colors I never knew it held.
Another blooms slow,
petal by patient petal.
a story that was waiting
to remember itself.
They wander, these thoughts,
brushing against the edges of silence,
seeking the shape of meaning
in their unfolding.
I watch them open,
a gentle riot of becoming,
and feel myself open too.
For every folded thought
is a world paused
and every unfolding,
a small awakening.
©®Madhumita
No comments:
Post a Comment