The echoes of dust rumbled in halls once grand,
Now only stripped of light,
Where shadows crept to drown the night,
The echoes of dust stirred, though no one spoke,
A distant memory awoke.
The ancient tapestries, now frayed and torn,
Once told of splendour, now forlorn,
Their colours dulled by time’s cruel hand,
As dust engulfed this fallen land.
The mirrors were cracked, no faces shown,
But whispers from the long ago,
Reflections of a life erased,
Now swallowed by the void’s embrace.
The chandeliers no longer gleamed,
Their crystals dim, devoid of dreams,
They dangled low as if to fall,
A final toll within the hall.
And in the air, a lingering chill,
A scent of dust that did not stand still,
It twisted and curled like faded smoke,
A phantom of the words unspoken.
The noises of footsteps of forgotten years,
Once filled these halls with hopes and fears,
But now they faded, like fleeting breaths,
Replaced by stillness, cloaked in death.
What ghosts remained, though none were seen,
In every crack, in every seam?
What tales were buried in the stone,
Of sorrows known and seeds unsown?
Since time, it claimed both joy and woe,
And left behind a silent show,
Where every room, so cold, so vast,
Replayed the moments of the past.
And here, within these walls of dust,
Where once was love, there was only rust,
The echoes of dust lingered, faint and frail,
A mournful song, a timeless wail.
What secrets did this place once keep,
Now buried in its endless sleep?
For, in the end, all things must fade,
Forever, in deep shadows, the silence lay.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
