The Silent Room
by Esther Elizabeth Racah
In the silent room where time had lost its way,
Faint sighs stirred the dusty air.
Furniture draped in a forgotten grey,
While shadows lingered, fading in despair.
The clock’s hands rested in a frozen trance,
Its pendulum still, mid-arc and paused.
Sunlight filtered through a dim expanse,
Casting shapes where silence caused.
Curtains hung in tattered, faded folds,
Once vibrant hues were now dulled and cold.
A chair with threads of age-old gold—
Vacant, though its tales were bold.
Walls absorbed the stories of the past,
Depicting moments long passed by.
Unspoken secrets held fast
In the hush where memories lie.
The dust had settled on forgotten tomes,
Books whose pages faded to air—
Their tales were lost in abandoned homes,
Their words dissolved in silent despair.
The aura grew heavy with lingering weight,
Of cries and songs that faded away.
The silent room remained in the still estate,
A portrait of ghosts held in sway.
Cobwebs laced the corners with care,
Delicate threads in dim light clung.
Suspended in languid air,
A monument to decay’s tongue.
The phantom chimes of a dead clock
Marked time in a place untouched by change.
Shadows stretched in twisting mock,
In this stillness, life seemed estranged.
The room held its breath in a heavy pause,
A space where past silence was sung.
Echoes of old, forgotten applause
Hung in the air where emptiness clung.
Every corner harboured a secret past,
Whispers of voices long since gone.
The silence stretched, vast and vast,
In this room where, time was withdrawn.
The walls echoed with a distant sigh,
Forgotten reveries of days gone by.
In this void where nothing could reply,
Only silence reigned beneath the sky.
