Whispers Of Stratford Poem by P.A. NOUSHAD

Iago, Othello, Lear, Macbeth, Hamlet...
Their restless phantoms still roam,
woven in the fabric of time,
breathing through the lips of eternity.

Here, beneath this ancient stone,
you slumber, yet are never still.
The wind carries your unbroken voice,
a whisper upon the river of existence.

I stand before you, Bard of Avon,
a fleeting soul in the stream of ages,
where childhood dreams dissolve into truth,
and shadows of wisdom stretch toward the infinite.

Though your eyes have long been closed,
your gaze lingers upon the world,
seeing what we fail to see,
a mirror to the souls we hide.

With your words, I rise beyond,
above the poisoned breath of men,
where ambition cloaks itself in virtue,
and innocence is bartered for a hollow crown.

I warn my son, as you warned the world—
of daggers veiled in gentle hands,
of love turned tempest, trust turned to dust,
of fate's cruel jest written in invisible ink.

Yet within your lines, I find refuge,
a lantern in the storm's unyielding eye,
where truth stands unchained, untouched,
rising beyond the walls of fleeting time.

Dear Shakespeare, though flesh may crumble,
your whispers are woven into the soul of man.
Here at your grave, I do not mourn—
for you do not sleep; you are not gone.