He Will Still Be There

Royal Club for Literature and Peace 

He Will Still Be There

Sanjay Singh

He Will Still Be There

Amid the twilight haze of a storm-kissed eve,

He stands alone where shadows weave—

Beneath a broken lamppost’s stare,

On a silent street, stripped bare.

Eyes fixed ahead, memories flare,

His heart a chamber echoing care.

The wind wraps close—a phantom trace,

Of her soft touch, her warm embrace.

Yet he does not shiver, nor retreat,

A rose in hand—wilted, bittersweet.

Not lifeless, no—its soul still glows,

A love he guards, a truth he knows.

His silhouette, weathered by time’s design,

Yet in his gaze, soft hopes align.

Hope flickers like a candle’s breath,

Small, defiant in the face of death.

Each whispered “I will be there” sighs,

A vow that climbs the starlit skies.

Through silence sharp as frozen air,

It cuts—a prayer hung trembling there.

Behind—ruins of laughter, pride, and pain,

Moments shattered in love’s lost rain.

Before him, just beyond the wall,

Her vision stirs—a distant call.

He does not curse the stones once laid,

But traces them with hands unafraid—

Seeking cracks where love might seep,

Where broken promises dare to weep.

“I’ll fight,” he says—not with rage or cry,

But with patience deep and tear-washed eye.

This is no end, no cold despair—

It’s resurrection, pure and rare.

And even if her silence stays,

If time erases all their days—

Still, he will stand in evening’s glare,

A heart that waits.

He will be there.

Sanjay Singh

documentation: Waffaa Badarneh