Angel

By Aarna Sandilya

Sometimes, when sky feels ready to fall,

An Angel steps out, as quiet as dawn.

No heralding trumpets, no silver banners,

Only the gentle hands stitching the torn edge,

Asking for nothing in return.

Even with battles raging in his own skies,

He remains—

Wearing a smile like morning sunlight

And a wand transforming shadows into light.

The Angel comes with rare gifts—

Of compassion, kindness and endless patience,

Gifts, perhaps, from God himself.

He lifts the stone from hearts’ weary chambers,

And whispers that the world still holds

Corners worth loving.

The Angel makes me believe—

In the quiet power of a soul who chooses to stay.

By Aarna Sandilya