A boy beheld a chamber, hidden deep.
Its walls had shifted, stirred by fate or love,
A secret long in dust and shadows steeped.
A trunk of wood with carvings etched in lore,
No locks or chains to guard the mystery there.
A single book lay resting, nothing more,
Its simple form a gift both strange and rare.
The boy’s young heart first sank, then rose again,
As dreams of treasures turned to history’s call.
A tale of faith, of flight through grief and pain,
Of secrets kept as empires turned to fall.
This ancient tome now bound his destiny,
Its whispers shaped the man he’s yet to be.
-Jahangir Ashraf
22 November 2024