Whispers From Antiquity Poem by Yasmin Khan

Oft I breathe in the times bygone,
my dwelling is in some yonder woods,
hills peep through my half-shut casement.
I sit at my small table, finely carved
with a kerosene lamp on it, a piece
of parchment flutters in the soft breeze.

As I transcribe my random musings
the faint whisper of my quill is audible
in the quiet of my room.
Each time I dip my pen in the inkwell,
words from the depths of my heart
flow and set on the sheet, moments
of pain and pleasure, hopes, dreams
and fears lie on paper to stay for eons
and I take a sigh of relief
to spill my feelings in ink.

Yasmin Kh.