In shadows where the ink flows free,
Unfinished lines lie still and dream,
Each pause a whisper, unfulfilled,
A promise of the thought, instilled.

In half-told tales, their secrets hide,
A melody in silence bides,
The echo of a journey stalled,
A mystery that’s softly called.

Yet in these gaps, where meaning strains,
A hidden muse in silence reigns,
For in each break and space between,
The soul of art remains unseen.

© Ravi Pradhan