Srinagar between the lines (Marcella Boccia)
The lake whispers in tongues of mist,its breath a veil over forgotten names.Shikaras drift like silent prayers,soft ripples spelling verses only the moon can read.The air tastes of lost letters,unwritten vows, half-formed songs—love that burned in the hush of dawn,grief that lingers between jasmine and ash.Mountains loom, guardians of sorrow,their spines carved with the weight of echoes.Somewhere, a poet stitches silence into rhyme,while a mother folds the night into her palms.Srinagar—written in longing, erased by time,a city etched in ink that never dries.
