We Will Not Fade Like Pigments In A Frame Poem by Mohammad Younus

We will not fade like pigments in a frame,
eroded by time's unrelenting tide.
We are not sparrows perched on eternity's limb,
here in a breath, gone the next—
we are the song thrumming in the marrow of the wind.
We are not shadows, fleeting stains on the earth,
dissolving when dusk folds its hands.
We are embers that outlast the eclipse,
a blaze cleaving through the veil of night.
We are petals on an unyielding stem,
roots gripping deeper than frost can reach,
blooming in cadence with forgotten seasons,
until time unravels at our throats.
We are not glyphs in the sand,
scattered by apathy's salted waves.
We are sigils etched into the ribs of the cosmos,
inked in the language of forever.
We are the ocean—not its surface, but its pulse,
the chasm where light bends into myth,
waves gnawing at the shore's crumbling edge,
a chorus that refuses to be hushed.
We are not cracked earth, pleading for rain,
nor dust surrendered to the wind's hunger.
We are soil swollen with unborn forests,
sap rising toward a nameless sun,
branches scripting hymns in the sky.
Let the world clutch its hollow labels—
we are the breath between a prophet's prayers,
smoke curling from altars of defiance,
carrying embers to kindle the dawn.
We are divinity sheathed in sinew,
a spark cradled in the hollows of bone.
Every footfall drums the anthem of origins,
every gasp a covenant with the infinite.
We are the lens bending light through the void,
the loom weaving night into constellations.
We are the prophecy of unchained horizons,
the rhyme in the epic yet to be carved into stone.
And when the world aims to coffin us in lies,
we will erupt—volcanoes of verb and vein,
scorching through prisons of paper and pretense.
We are the fracture in every wall,
the dawn no storm can swallow.
We are not transient, not brittle, not erased.
We are the seconds that outlive clocks.
We are the ink time cannot drain.
We are the immovable is.

MyKoul