The sun sinks behind the ridge,
painting the stones in fading gold.
The temple stands empty,
its doors breathing dust and light.
No wind moves,
no prayer drifts through the halls—
only the crickets speak,
each note a thread in the fabric of dusk.
The world grows smaller with every chirp,
until nothing remains
but sound and silence
bowing to each other.
The day ends without farewell,
the night begins without intent—
and between them,
the temple simply is.
No comments:
Post a Comment