It appeared on a cold winter night
Of dreary sides and twisted rights.
An illuminating space or a room it seemed,
But getting inside, the mystery revealed.

Aisles so long of silenced pages,
Each book carries guilts in stages.
I walked towards the extreme right,
Reading the pages in the moonlight.

The first book that caught my eye
Was of a friend's unsaid goodbye.
Maybe they drifted apart, I thought aloud,
Walking ahead, I couldn't help but frown.

In the next book, a mother wrote
Apologies to her son who lived abroad.
I stepped inside a dreamy corner,
Walking slowly, I drifted further

In the forgotten shelves
Where confessions stayed,
I found yet another page
Kissed red with words unsaid.

The familiar verses I once knew—
I closed the book as sadness grew.
I reached the end, the books vanished.
I wonder if I’ll walk once more,
Through silent shelves and whispered lore.

                                               ~Enviara 🤍

Dear Ocean,
I write to you, first apologizing.
You know the distance, you know the time,
You know everything, as I’ve nothing to hide.
Our world, so open and yet so far,
I dreamt of a tomorrow where your sublime waves
And my ablazing light could never be apart.
But now I know the naivety in thought—
Our woven fate and destined time—
And how solemn I became upon understanding
That indeed, our paths could never align.

Dear Star,
I write to you, expressing all of my love.
You know my heart, and I know your light,
You know everything, as I’ve nothing to hide.
Why are you so solemn for the times gone?
Losing your light over inexorable thoughts,
I’m just sated to bask in your light
And wait for you the whole night.
I remember the naive dreams we had,
But centuries late, I finally understand
The serenity of basking in your light.
And still, you say our paths don’t align.
          
                                           ~Enviara