“𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄”

 “𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄”

“WHERE SILENCE HOLDS THE LOUDEST SOUND”

 

—   a poem for those who carry silence like a second skin —

 

In this poem, the poet wants to convey his thoughts and feelings about how time quietly takes everything away—people, moments, even the sound of laughter—leaving behind only fading memories and the echo of what once was. He explores the pain of remembering, the silence that follows loss, and how even sorrow becomes a quiet companion when everything else has slipped away. Through simple, honest words, he reflects on the loneliness of being forgotten, the weight of carrying memories no one else remembers, and the quiet need to leave behind some trace of existence—a small mark that says, “I was here.”

 

 

On quiet nights when stars won’t shine,

I sip on pain like bitter wine.

Silence roars louder than sound,

While echoes of memories swirl around.

 

The days pass by like faces blurred,

Each hour a wound, each breath unheard.

I sit with shadows, side by side,

In rooms where laughter once used to hide.

 

I walk through halls of empty years,

My footsteps were loud, my silence clear.

Each corner holds a ghostly trace,

Of moments lost I can't replace.

 

The sky looks down with heavy eyes,

A mirror of my own disguise.

Where laughter dared to stay,

Now stillness steals the light away.

 

What is the point in keeping track,

When time won’t give those moments back?

Time is no healer — just a thief,

It dulls the edge but not the grief,

It fades the scars, yet leaves behind

A shadow carved etched in the mind.

 

Even if it was just a dream,

Why does the loss still cut extreme?

Yet I breathe, and still I wait—

A silent prayer to twist my fate.

 

I neither curse what I became,

Nor voice my absence loud in blame,

For even sorrow, in its grace,

Has gently touched my life again in the old phase.

 

Bittersweet—this is the word,

A song half-sung, a truth half-heard,

Not joy, not grief, but both combined—

The echo left when hearts unwind.

 

So let me mourn, and let me bless,

This quiet art of emptiness,

For memories, though sharp they stay,

Are better than the slow & dark decay.

 

And yet, I write—though none may read,

These lines are not born of want or need.

They're just a mark that I was here,

A voice beneath the fading year.

 

“Life moves in silence, shadowed and slow,
Leaving behind what none can know.”

 

- By HARDIK JAIN. ©

Indore (MP)