Hazrat Usman
A lover of technology and Books
I used to run back to you. Every crack in the road was a memory we stepped over. But now it’s all blur. The streets don’t recognize me. The doors don’t wait open.
By Hazrat Usman Usman7 months ago in Poets
If we die, then let the world know we were here without asking permission. Let the dust carry our names on its back, whispered through cracked windows and broken fences.
From where we begin, humans did not belong they survived. They didn’t arrive with gold, or comfort, or maps. Only with bruised palms, bare feet, and eyes trained on storms.
I used to think I was someone. A brother. A friend. A reason to be missed. Now I hear my name less each day. People speak around me. Through me. Over me.
At first it was quiet. Just a pause between heartbeats. A stillness in the room. Then it grew. The kind you feel in your chest but can’t name.
We used to sit right here. Same spot. Same hour. Back then your silence meant peace. Now it feels like absence. Like a sound missing from the air.
I was there. Every day. Same seat. Same silence. I smiled when they spoke. Laughed when expected. But no one asked how I was.
It rained the night you left. Hard. Like the sky was breaking with me. I waited by the door just in case you’d turn back.
Some people say forever like it’s a greeting. Like it costs nothing. But when the sky starts falling, they leave without a sound.
At first we were music. Laughs bouncing off walls like rhythm. Messages faster than heartbeats. Calls that never needed clocks.
I wrote you a thousand times in my head. On napkins. On cracked screens. On fogged windows. But I never pressed send. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t know if you'd care.
We stand on sidewalks hoping time slows down just once. But streetlights never wait. They change from red to green without asking if you’re ready.
