Aryan
" I'm nothing but a cup of coffee, a dimly lit room and an old book with pale yellow pages "
My Journey
Seasons change, so do I?
I think not.
Years have only grown old
time has fallen like leaves.
I have been here still
on this bench, beside the walkway.
Faces faded, voices thinned into echoes
and I remained.
Breaths a wind could not carry
smiles a sun could not reach
pains a chest could not endure
and tears a rain could not steal
it all gathers here.
I see it, I feel it
and I let them come
and sit beside me.
It is not my journey, I say
It is theirs...
Aryan Writes
Stories, poems, and blogs that speak.
When moments passed, they stayed with me.
When silence spoke, I listened.
When views lingered, i felt them.
When it rained and they dripped on the windowpane.
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Words
Snapshots from stories, poems, and musings that shape my world.
