Echoes of a Fading Time

Some memories don’t shout—they whisper. They tiptoe through our hearts when we least expect, leaving behind a warmth that aches and heals all at once. This poem was born from that space.

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Echoes of a Fading Time.

I feel the memories whispering low,

Like wind through trees where shadows grow.

They shimmer there, on edges near,

Yet slip away when I draw near.

A distant laugh, a fleeting glance,

Moments that once made my heart dance.

Now just echoes in the quiet air,

I reach to hold them, but they’re not there.

They drift like mist in morning light,

Gone with the dawn, just out of sight.

I feel them close, yet far they stay,

Ghosts of a past that fades away.

In the corner of my soul they reside,

A place where time and truth collide.

I sense their warmth, their soft embrace,

But can’t return to that sacred place.

Once, those days were flesh and bone,

Now they’re shadows, cold as stone.

I hear their voices, clear and bright,

But they dissolve in the depths of night.

The streets I walked, the songs I knew,

All now part of the fading view.

I trace the lines of what once was,

A time wrapped tight in life’s soft gauze.

I try to hold them, make them stay,

But like the stars at break of day,

They fade beyond my outstretched hand,

Just memories on shifting sand.

Yet still, they linger, silent and sweet,

In the rhythm of my heart’s soft beat.

Though I can’t touch or pull them near,

Their presence is forever clear.

They are the whispers of what has passed,

Fleeting, fragile, never to last.

Yet they are mine, forever whole,

These distant memories stitched to my soul.

—JUNAID UL NISAR