Nameless Graves

They lie beneath the soil no name, no stone, no dates to mark when they began or when they ended. Just dirt, just time, just absence. The wind passes over but doesn’t stop. The world keeps moving as if they never stood in it. No flowers left behind. No candle burning. No voice to speak their truth. Were they mothers? Fathers? Children who never grew old? Dreamers whose dreams were stolen too soon? They had names once. Laughed once. Cried, loved, feared, hoped. Now, only echoes remain soft, invisible, weightless. But I see them. I feel them in the quiet places where no one looks. I write so their silence is not the end. So their stories don’t vanish like smoke in wind. Nameless but never forgotten.