#NapoWrimo 2025

#ArtoonsInnPoetryParlour

#Day18.

 

A crushed piece of parchment

the size of my palm,

lies in a corner

of the ancient hall’s chest.

Forgotten,

or perhaps lost in the rush

to escape into

a new place of belonging.

 

Thin lines in red

breathing dust.

Notches etched,

parched,

the river lines

spilling out

of its frayed edges.

 

This world has cracks:

the map weeps,

its tear stains snaking

their way through

its narrow expanse.

 

The map and its impermanence.

New ones will be drawn

And erased

And redrawn,

till a star swallows it.

 

Image : Nik Shuliahin (Unsplash)