Dust on Their Names

No names. No dates. Just stone, weathered and quiet. Grass grows over history. Rain smooths the last traces of their lives. They were. Then they weren’t. And now even memory has left them. No one comes here. No one lights a candle. No one whispers “I remember.” I walk among them. Each step a question. Each breath a prayer for someone I never knew. How many dreams died with no witness? How many voices were silenced before they ever rose? They don’t ask for much. Just not to be erased. But silence is louder than mourning. And time is ruthless with the forgotten.