Sachida Luitel
cobblestones hum beneath our feet,
and their memories seep through the soles of our shoes—
into the trees, into the bark, into the leaves, into the sky
we are pilgrims and our steps echo
in the bark, in the leaves, in the trees, in the sky.
streetlights bloom in twilight,
their amber halos cast out the darkness where they shine
and they shine
on our faces, on our hearts, on our souls.
a prayer and it is cast in amber,
its warm arms hold the night,
making it gentle, making it safe.
we are no strangers to the dark,
yet the light still warms us,
whispering that we still are worthy of its love.
when the day grows heavy on our shoulders,
and the night feels vast and endless,
the streetlights hum softly to us,
a reminder that even in our weariness,
there is still light that waits to guide us somewhere.
fog and it whispers,
it whispers through arches, through halls,
into thoughts, into walls.
it rises from the stones, gracing the ground in ghostly veils,
a bride for the mysteries that live
in the echoes of human longing,
in the din of human murmuring,
in the breath of humanity living.
a glass cracks as a bird calls
as if the hush wished to etch itself here
to say “i was here, i existed”
it was–and forever is–
and it only wishes to be seen,
to be told
it was–and forever is.
a world and its streetlights keep memories,
watching kindly, and recording that we were here, that we existed,
that autumn leaves clung to our socks as we walked.
and that our little lives were worthy of love.
(Sachida Luitel is a Grade 11 student at Global College of Science, Baneshwor.)
