Roots Among Palaces

The breath of roots creeps through the cracks in walls,
among palaces that seem to swallow and whisper.
Time remains suspended, in a sigh of memory.
They intertwine, underground, like threads of hidden light.
Revealing stone paths where no one truly runs.
Every knot tells voices that have lived in the quarter.
The city’s chatter quiets down and listens.
Breath becomes wind between balconies and courtyards.
Slow stories emerge from the water among the grates.
When it rains, the stone keeps new hours,
and we remain listening, small curious souls.
Roots and palaces together tell the suspended time.