I have been sitting here for long,
on this fire—
the fire of raised eyebrows and
shaken minds.
I have been sitting here
for long—
long enough for
civilizations to vanish,
your bones to be pounded,
and memory cells to dry—
dried, and to have lost
the imprints of
my innocent giggle,
the fragrance of my cells,
and the stories of starry nights.
My skin has charred—
so have my dreams,
and the flame within me.
Yet I rise—
from the ash of your silence,
with a heart that still remembers
the warmth before the fire.
For even in charred skin,
the pulse of life hums softly—
a whisper that refuses to die.
Flame of Charred Soul
