The Song of Endless Roads I. The Beginning The morning stirs with golden breath, A hush before the day is born. The earth awakens, soft and slow, Its heart still trembling from the dawn. I step into the waiting silence, Shoes damp with dew, lungs filled with sky. The road before me bends and whispers, “Walk on, child, don’t ask why.” For every path has secrets hidden, Carved in stone and sung by streams, And those who dare to keep on walking Find their footsteps leading into dreams. II. Voices of the Earth The fields are choirs of quiet wonder, Grass blades hum in emerald rows. The trees hold council in their stillness, Guardians of what the spirit knows. Birdsong bursts like sudden laughter, Rising clear where shadows fade. Each feathered voice a note of freedom, Each trill a hymn creation made. The wind becomes my patient teacher, Tracing stories along my skin. It speaks of journeys without ending, Of worlds that live both out and in. III. The Weight ...
The River of Time
Beneath the quiet sky, a river flows unseen,
its waters woven with silver threads of memory,
its currents shaped by whispers of forgotten dreams.
Each drop is a heartbeat,
each ripple a story,
each bend a chance we once held in trembling hands.
Time does not pause for the weary,
nor does it rush for the eager—
it moves as it must,
steady, patient, eternal,
teaching us that nothing we touch
is ever truly ours to keep.
I have walked its banks in solitude,
watched autumn leaves surrender to the water,
their colors bright even as they drifted
toward the unknown.
And I wondered:
are we not like those leaves?
Clinging to our trees of comfort,
afraid of the fall,
yet destined to find the freedom of the current.
There are faces in the river,
smiles blurred by distance,
eyes that once lit the lanterns of my nights.
Some are gone,
yet their reflections linger,
etched into the surface of time’s water.
I try to hold them,
but the river slips through my fingers,
reminding me that love is not possession,
but presence—
a light that stays even after the flame is gone.
How many moments have I lost
while searching for moments yet to come?
How often have I closed my eyes
to the song of today,
while chasing the uncertain promise of tomorrow?
The river laughs at my haste.
It tells me: be still.
It tells me: the present is enough.
And so I sit,
watching dawn unfold like a book of fire,
its pages written in gold across the horizon.
Birds rise,
their wings cutting the air like prayers,
and the world is new,
though it is ancient,
though it has always been.
I think of the child I once was,
running barefoot through grass,
eyes wide as the sky.
I think of the elder I will one day be,
hands wrinkled like autumn bark,
breath soft as falling snow.
Both live within me still,
their voices joined in chorus
as the river carries us forward.
There is no ending here,
only transformation—
a stone becomes sand,
a wave becomes mist,
a heart becomes memory.
The river teaches:
what departs does not vanish;
it changes,
it continues,
it flows.
And when my own leaf falls,
when I too am carried by the current,
I hope I will not resist.
I hope I will open my arms
to the boundless ocean waiting ahead.
For in the end,
to flow is to live,
to surrender is to be free.
So I rise from the riverbank,
feet damp with dew,
heart heavy with wonder,
and whisper a vow:
I will walk with gentler steps,
I will speak with kinder words,
I will treasure the sunlight on my face
and the shadow at my side.
The river of time flows on,
and I, at last,
flow with it.
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