The floors are washed, cleanliness is everywhere
And silence slowly enters the door
Merry silenced voices
And the ticking clock counts the time.
Outside the windows it’s warm, autumn time,
And the January snowstorms are still far away.
Life goes the way, time to think
About what we did not have time.
And silence accumulates on the word ...
How will it be heard, is this word?
It’ll lie on my soul like baklava
Or twists like lemon acid?
👍👍
@tipu curate
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