Overcast
Overcast The sky hangs low in silver sighs, As monsoon winds in silence rise. The world, today, walks soft and slow— Grey light through windows, soft shadows. Inside, the office hums and blinks, Tasks tick forward, links in links. A fire to fight, a call, a plan— Yet others hold the line I man. Beyond the screen, the hills still wait, Wrapped in mist, in no great haste. I see the road inside my mind— The curve, the green, the rain behind. She’s there beside me, hand in hand, No words, just songs and shifting land. The wipers beat a steady rhyme, Like heartbeats falling out of time. But duty binds with velvet chains— Invisible, yet firm and plain. So here I sit, but part of me Is tracing roads I cannot see. And though I stay, the dream is near— A stolen hill, a whispered year. Some days are made of pause and ache. Some drives are real, though never take.