The Unfinished Story

By Gaurav Chandrawanshi

In a dusty corner, a book lies still,

Its pages waiting, its ink spilled.

A story started with so much care,

But left unfinished, hanging there.

The writer dreamed of skies so wide,

Of heroes brave and battles tied.

Of love that bloomed, of hearts that broke,

Of words unspoken, thoughts that choked.

But halfway through, the pen grew cold,

The fire dimmed, the story old.

The dreams once bright began to fade,

Lost beneath the plans they made.

Life stepped in with louder calls,

Deadlines, duties, endless walls.

The book was placed upon a shelf,

Its voice unheard, its dream itself.

But stories don’t forget their home,

They whisper softly when alone.

“Come back to me, pick up the pen,

Let’s dream together once again.”

For every dream, though paused or torn,

Holds a light that’s still reborn.

No tale is wasted, no words in vain,

The Unfinished Story waits… again.

By Gaurav Chandrawanshi