Clock ticks, yet there's no voices that await;
stillness spreads,
shaking my tread to death.
For I was once,
and would always remain that way.
A room where names once echoed,
praise like Venus, vowed like Zeus.
Now withered, dismissed—
a thing who never existed,
as if I had never been.
The applause that once carried me
has drifted into the air,
like ash refuses to settle,
like a cluster of light,
no longer remembers its source.
The chairs remain but no one sits,
their warmth long varnished before even sight sets.
I speak like a dustling flower,
I wave my hand,
twist my joint,
act perfectly;
no room for a slacker,
yet no one's there.
Is it still worth to see?
The air does not bend,
my words dissolve before they reach a listening ear.
I hear whispers of my own agony,
quietly grasping for the glow I've been.
There they stood; unwanted,
and shadows began to reappear.
It cuts through my gut.
The smiles are the same;
they will make you fold,
fool to stay still.
But I'm no longer the flame they tamed,
I'm no longer the captured,
I no longer shine the same.
My name stops ringing the headlines,
I'm no longer the subject of the spotlight.
The crowd has moved,
their eyes grazing new constellations,
while I remain;
masking the memory of the forgotten, haunted—the star that dimmed.
A tapestry inscribed,
Not long from my mourning soul,
through the whispers,
fell a heavy quiet,
that silent dimming can be louder than a subjective love.
And then I learned what rivers teach:
People flow, they shift, they breach.
It was not cruelty nor disdain,
rather a nature's rhythm, loss or gain.
I was once, and that was grace,
a fleeting warmth, a brief embrace.
Enough t
o ache, but not to curse,
For I was, and never is—my silent verse.
