Ink And Dust
A thin voice speaks softly on the musty air
A scent of dust, and years of fading ink
Not a smell that saturate every room
But of a room where time stood there
A room that holds the ghost of tracing fingers
The ink, of deep search and flowing river
Of secrets stored on every page
A memory trapped on brown leaves
Image generated using Gemini AI
The gentle spices of years gone by
The fading of ink to time and change
Slowly forgotten to rust and dust
Beneath a lamp, a weary sigh
The book breathe out it's life to you
A dusty, warm, and rich perfume
A reminder that inks never die
In a room where leaders live
0.04238441 BEE
0 comments