Beneath the lanterns, where the light
stretches their shadows soft and thin,
walk women through the quiet night,
their silence heavy with untold tales.

Their heels strike whispers on the wet stone,
like secret clockbeats of another time.
They carry dreams behind their eyes,
but no one reads the words inside.

Sometimes the wind calls out their names,
sometimes the rain collects their grief,
and somewhere, behind a locked-up window,
a fragile hope still burns unseen.

Women in the night,
invisible to the day,
keepers of secrets
even the stars will never betray.