The Last Trace

 The Last Trace 



A fading curl of smoke drifts to nowhere,

Glass tips, one drop clings to the rim.

His eyes wander past the city lights—

Dreams once bright, now dim.


Thoughts ripple like echoes in rain,

The silver lights teach the youth to travel differently.

He whispers to the wind, half in memory,

Half in wonder — where did the years go?


Old fire, new frost — both burn the same,

Time exhales through every name.

Footsteps fade on streets of change,

Yet silence hums a familiar refrain.


GR kaviyoor 

25 10 2025

(Canada, toronto)

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