When daylight fades and silent deserts breathe,

The temple walls begin their quiet speech;

In chiseled lines where ancient shadows seethe,

Old voices stir beyond the scholar’s reach.

Each mark a pulse of memory long sealed,

A story sleeping in the patient stone;

By moonlit touch their hidden truths revealed,

They rise as if the past were flesh and bone.

The owls bear witness to their murmured lore,

As time itself bends softly at their call;

For written words outlive the breath of war,

And mock the slow decay that claims us all.

So too your name I carve where stars convene—

A love no passing age shall erase unseen.