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evening light lingers—
a fallen shield in shadow
keeps the hush of time

 

A hush gathers along the colonnade—as though the sandstone itself slows its breathing.  Last sunlight does not descend; it rises from within the carvings, memory surfacing through centuries of dust.

The relief stills the storm of Kurukshetra.  Hooves rear, spears arc, yet violence is absent.  One soldier stands apart, shield lifted at the threshold of surrender or transcendence.  I surrendered, too—exposing the large-format film in a single, unhurried breath.

In the darkroom I returned to feeling, not fact: myth’s ache, carved silence, the faint ember of something sacred.  Hand-toning coaxed that ember into paper—gold and ash rather than black and white.  What remains is aftermath: the silence following thunder, the breath that carries the soul across an unseen gate.

The warrior still waits—not for triumph, but for the light that remembers.

— L.V.


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