The sunset is a ledger,
inking light into the lake,
a contract between endings
and the colours they remake.
The water is a question
wearing stillness as its skin,
a lock that never opens
yet keeps letting you walk in.
The sky is just a whisper
that the day has one more breath,
a fire that doesn’t burn,
yet warms the edge of depth.
The hills are quiet witnesses,
jury to the dusk’s soft trial,
shadowed, but not absent,
silent, but not in denial.
The tree is not a tree at all,
but a map of who you were,
roots below the surface,
stories tangled in its blur.
And you?
You’re the ripple,
small, unseen, but real,
proof that even stillness
has a pulse it tries to feel.
Reflection isn’t memory.
It’s a lantern made of glass,
it doesn’t show the journey back,
it lights the way you’ll pass.
Simi
Picture credits: BDS
Simi says... 