Mamsur abubakar

Here’s a poem about beautiful regrets: I wear my past like a fragile thread, A tapestry of words unsaid. Each tear, each loss, a tender sting, A broken heart that learned to sing. The roads not taken, the doors long closed, A bittersweet garden where sorrow grows. Yet in the shadows, light still plays, A quiet beauty in lost days. For every wound, a memory blooms, A soft lament in quiet rooms. Regret, a curse, yet strangely sweet, A love that lingers in defeat. What do you think?