On dark floors, walks this shadow, gradually growing.
To blind eyes, the creature that casts it remains visible,
Hidden in the dimmest rays of light,
Embraced in the safest arms of the night.
Although presence -felt yet as invisible as this green flower,
Amidst dieing grasses, healthily living at this hour.
Every rod of beauty is by this darkness broken,
Words at the tip of tongues, yet unspoken.
Bleak weathers, treating every atom of warmth with scorn,
Silence devouring every melodious voice born.
Beautiful and many-hued, yet invisible remains this being,
Only in this shadow, throbs the life unseen.
Walking within these four walls as the still air
Sings of lost hope, of despair
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