✨ कविता ✨ Let the breads lose their heat …

Rajeev Verma

When the lamps grow dim and clocks grow tired,
When streets fall quiet, voices expire,
He turns the key with weary hands,
Dust of the world on his sleeves still stands.

All day he bargained with the sun,
With sweat and silence, battles won,
Dreams folded small in a pocket of need,
For futures he’ll never stop trying to seed.

The house has slept through his return,
Curtains closed, the stoves unburned,
On the table waits without complaint,
A plate of breads, cold and faint.

They carry more than wheat and fire,
They hold his hours, his unspoken desire,
Each dry bite tastes of swallowed pain,
Of smiles worn through hunger and rain.

No questions asked, no stories told,
His tired heart has learned to hold
The weight of love without a sound,
Like roots that suffer under ground.

Children dream in rooms nearby,
Unaware of the cost paid by time,
Their laughter bought with broken rest,
Their comfort stitched into his chest.

He does not curse the silent meal,
For he knows what sacrifice can heal,
Cold breads teach him, night by night,
That warmth is born from inner light.

The world applauds the loud, the seen,
Not those who live in spaces between,
Yet heaven notes each quiet act,
Each promise kept, each dream intact.

So let the breads lose their heat,
Let hunger sit at his tired feet,
For love that feeds another’s breath
Is greater than the fear of death.

One day, perhaps, a waiting flame,
A warm hand, a whispered name,
But till that dawn breaks soft and slow,
He eats in peace what love bestows.