I’m writing this on a morning that hasn’t yet grown noisy.
My phone still lies face down on the table.
The coffee is still steaming.And for some reason, I’m reminded of my mother.

Morning and Mom

My mother never taught me to be silent. 
She simply did it:
sitting on the porch after dawn prayer,
enjoying the morning atmosphere, the bright light slowly growing
without saying a word.

I didn’t understand it back then.
Now I know:
that is the most sincere prayer.
No words needed.
No sound needed.

Mom just sat there.
And the world, for some reason, grew still too.

Echoes in Ink is this little space. A place where I put words that aren’t long enough to be essays, not loud enough to be screams. Just short poems. Sometimes about Mom. Sometimes about rain. Sometimes about the silence that suddenly settles in when you turn off your phone.

If you want to contribute a poem, or simply read them in your heart, you’re in the right place. You don’t need to understand literature. You don’t need to be able to write beautifully. You just need to… pause for a moment. And read slowly.