Locked Doors Poem by Sumaya Aijaz Wani

Letting it all out-

From forgotten boxes,
from dust laden shelves,
from thorns that once drew blood,
and flowers that still remember how to bloom.
Everything,
All at once,
in the same place,
at the same hour.
Hands that wave
yet tremble beneath their own weight;
a smile held together
with tears stitched into seams.
Chains grow quiet.
Doors learn the language of rust.
They stand
in the middle of barren land,
where nothing survives
except sunflowers-
always facing the sun,
as though hope itself
has roots too stubborn to die.

Tell me-

Can dust simply be blown away,
or does it settle
into cracks of everything it touches?
Does silence become corrosion?
Does neglect become erosion?
Perhaps it does.
Not because time is cruel,
but because unopened doors
teach even iron
how to rust.