In the cosmic silence of the night, when the stars weave stories on the dark sky
In the cosmic silence of the night, when the stars weave stories on the dark sky,
I wonder where my place is in this vastness of dreams and shadows.
If the earth calls me home, why do I tremble under the weight of birth,
like a mountain feeling its stones weep under the burden of time?
If my family is a tree of life, why do its green leaves vanish
when I bleed in the silence of the night, and I remain like a dry branch
in the storm of destiny, watching as they drift away?
Why, when my soul falls like a sandcastle swept away by the sea,
do I see only their shadows fleeing to unknown horizons?
And if I belong to myself, why do my thoughts swarm
like a cloud of fireflies in the night of my mind, whispering that I am nothing,
the last leaf, forgotten by the wind that once caressed it?
They mock my strength like the wind mocks a leaf,
they scorn each breath like a blizzard does a pale fire,
calling my kindness a theater of death,
where the curtain falls on an unwritten ending.
If I belong to no one, not even myself,
whom should I ask to open the gates of heaven
and release my spirit trapped in a cage of mist?
Am I a stranger in my own skin, a ghost knocking on dream gates,
where I will never be welcomed?
Tell me, where should I begin, when every place I run to
whispers that I am a grain of sand in a broken hourglass,
a traveler lost among constellations, seeking a place
in a world that tells me I belong nowhere?
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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