Ghosts of Green

I walked past that garden today,

the weeds like untamed thoughts,

and I felt like a stranger on my own street.

Once, it was home to vibrant blooms,

now, it’s just a jungle of green memories,

each thorn a jab of regret.

The scent of basil, like a friend’s voice,

called to me from my neighbor’s stand,

making me ache for what I left untended,

the dreams that choked in dry soil.

If only I’d watered what once sparked,

made space for growth—now, I step

through dried leaves, wishing I could rewind.