By JH Sayyar
What shadow creeps without a rightful cause,
And lays its hand upon the heart’s still flame?
No fault, no sin, no breach of nature's laws—
Yet sorrow comes, and none can point to blame.
It floats, unseen, through corridors of thought,
And makes the brightest hour feel overcast
No healing balm, though many cures are sought,
Can ease the ache that seems too deep to last
Perhaps the soul remembers ancient wrongs,
Or bears the weight of grief not wholly known;
Perhaps in silence, where no voice belongs,
It mourns for things that never yet were shown.
Causeless, yet cruel—the pain we cannot name,
Still burns the breast, yet leaves the soul the same.
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