A garden full of roses,
and I, a lone orchid.
A thousand sheets of blank paper,
and the broken nib of a pen.
The glistening dawn that can never become the pensive dusk,
and night that can never become day.
Scribbles hailed as calligraphy,
not a word follows the call of destiny.
I halt for a moment,
and there walks another in my stead.
The tranquil moon that can never become the radiant sun.
The numbing winter that can never become the carefree summer.
A thousand days of unsaid words,
and the hushed chimes of the wind.
A garden full of roses,
and I, a lone orchid.
Aditi Deepak
2022
