The moon leaned low on trembling skies,
A silver hush in lullaby,
The stars were scattered, dimmed and shy,
As if they knew the end was nigh.
My breath was slow, a whispered thread,
Each moment spun from dreams I’d shed.
The silence curled around my bed,
A gentle weight, a word unsaid.
I saw the faces I had known,
Their voices drifted, soft in tone.
Regret and joy, now overgrown—
A garden wild, all seeds I'd sown.
No fear remained, no need to fight,
Just peace within the waning light.
The world outside slipped out of sight.
So passed, at last, my final night.
A Quiet Farewell Beneath the Stars
Thanks for reading my poem,
About the Creator
Israr khan
I write to bring attention to the voices and faces of the missing, the unheard, and the forgotten. , — raising awareness, sparking hope, and keeping the search alive. Every person has a story. Every story deserves to be told.
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