JAWĀNĪ-E-RAFTA
The love stayed. Youth was the one that moved on.
اس طرف محبت بھی وہ، جوانی بھی ہے کچھ الگ
شاید بھول گیا ہوں میں، بہار کے بعد خزاں لگتا الگ
That love remains, youth stands quite apart, maybe I forgot, autumn changes the heart.
THE SURGE
On the left, the lines ripple close together, one curve chasing the next. This is youth as the poem remembers it: warm, quick and full of pulse, the way love feels when the whole heart is moving.
THE TURN
The ripples do not stop. They fold into long, wide ribbons that wind across the panel and settle toward the base. Pointed forms rise at the top, like something still reaching. Nothing here is broken. It has only slowed, the way a season does.
THE AUTUMN
The poem does not mourn. It admits something small and honest: perhaps I forgot that autumn comes after spring, and that the same heart feels different inside it. The love is the same. The one who feels it has changed.
THE FRAME
An ornate floral scroll is carved around the edge, leaf after leaf. It holds the surging lines inside it, as memory holds a season after it has gone.
THE WOOD
Every curve is a separate layer of natural wood, carved at its own depth, so the shadows gather in the folds and the grain runs through each ribbon. The wood carries the autumn quietly.
THE FINAL THOUGHT
We rarely notice the day spring ends. We only notice, much later, that the light has changed, and that we are still here, still loving, just differently.
SaifX Ebonform · 2026