Absent Soul Poem by Mohammad Yousef

By Mohammad A.Yousef

In the quiet corners of a dim-lit room,
where shadows stretch like whispered secrets,
an absent soul wanders,
a ghost of laughter lost in the folds of time,
fingers trailing through the dust of memories,
each grain a testament to what once was.

The walls sigh softly,
holding echoes of footsteps that no longer tread,
the scent of jasmine lingers,
a reminder of late-night conversations,
where dreams were woven into the fabric of dawn,
and promises hung like stars,
glimmering in the twilight of shared hopes.

Yet now, silence reigns,
a vast ocean where ripples of absence
create waves of longing,
each heartbeat a question,
each breath a plea for return,
the air thick with what-ifs and if-onlys,
the weight of unspoken words pressing down,
like a fog that clings to the soul.

There's a chair that waits,
its arms outstretched,
a sentinel to the moments lost,
as the clock ticks with relentless precision,
counting down the minutes,
the hours,
the days,
until the sun washes the room in golden hues,
but still, it feels like night,
the light not quite reaching the heart.

The absent soul is not gone,
but woven into the very fabric of being,
a tapestry of laughter and tears,
their essence lingering in the spaces between,
in the songs humming softly in the background,
the rustle of leaves outside the window,
the warmth of an empty cup,
still holding the taste of shared secrets.

And in this solitude,
there lies a strange beauty,
for the absent soul teaches us to cherish,
to hold tight the fleeting moments,
to see the light in the shadows,
to understand that absence is not an end,
but a bridge to the depths of connection,
a reminder that love transcends the physical,
that souls intertwine beyond the veil of presence.

So let the heart ache,
let the tears fall like rain,
for in this cacophony of loss,
there blooms a garden of remembrance,
where every petal tells a story,
every thorn a lesson learned,
and the absent soul,
forever etched in the marrow of existence,
dances in the wind,
whispers through the leaves,
an eternal echo of what once was,
and what will always be.