In a quiet corner carved from days,
An alcove life unfolds in hush,
Where time forgets its frantic pace
And thoughts arrive without a rush.

A window spills a softened light,
Dust dancing in its golden beam,
Books lean close like old friends might,
Guarding secrets, holding dreams.

Here, the world feels far away,
Yet somehow closer to the soul,
Each whisper has a place to stay,
Each broken piece becomes more whole.

No crowded noise, no racing feet,
Just echoes of a gentler tune,
A heartbeat steady, calm, complete,
Beneath the gaze of a quiet moon.

They call it small, this tucked-away space,
Too hidden from the grand design,
But in its stillness lives a grace
That louder lives may never find.

For in the alcove, life is true—
Unmasked, unhurried, deeply felt,
A sacred pause the heart once knew,
Before the world made it forget itself.