Waves Of The Infinite Soul
In the stillness of the night,
The soul travels through the pathways of dreams,
Touching unseen colours,
And voices flowing like water in the valleys of silence.
The soul travels through the pathways of dreams,
Touching unseen colours,
And voices flowing like water in the valleys of silence.
Under an ancient moon,
I sit in the presence of contemplation,
Listening to the voice of the winds
As they sketch the map of the sky on my face.
There, where time fades away,
The moment unites with eternity,
And the eyes open gates that have no keys but silence.
I see shadows walking without bodies,
And touch stars singing the songs of the unseen.
In those moments,
I feel that I am not myself,
But a wave embracing the shore in a dance of oblivion.
Mystical experiences teach us,
That we are more than bodies,
We are the pulse in the heart of the universe,
And a dream reshaping itself in the mirrors of the soul.
In the changing states of consciousness,
I find myself the world,
And I find the world dwelling within me,
For we are two waves in a sea with no shores.
Pages Of The Soul
The poems are the wings of our souls
They soar between the pages of days,
Preserved by memory, or scattered by the wind
Into the corners of oblivion.
Yet, I love all my poems,
For each one carries my face
In a fleeting moment of life.
The last joyful page
Was hidden on the branch of a tree before my window,
When my soul turned green for the first time,
Filled with hope.
On that day, I wrote my dreams
On linden leaves
And hung them on the doors of tomorrow.
The last sorrowful page fell
When I encountered the profound meaning of loss,
Realizing that some faces
That left our lives will never return,
And that the phone holds no numbers
To console the absence.
The last nostalgic page still sleeps
On the shelves of my heart.
It awakens with the rise of the moon
To weave stories in the threads of night.
It is the page that carries the scent of mothers
And the songs of childhood,
Still floating on the memory of time.
The first page I ever read
Was on my father's features,
As he spoke to me about the land
That vanished beyond the borders.
I was young then,
But that page continued to travel with me,
Until I read it again on the face of the clouds
When the sea took our loved ones
And never returned them.
The most beautiful page
Is the one I welcomed with hope,
When I held my heart in my hands for the first time.
That page was filled with love and wonder,
And I still keep it
In the diaries of my prayers every morning.
The truest page
Is the one I write now,
When I decided to let the little girl inside me
Run free without restraint,
Painting words
As if they were butterflies
Soaring in a new morning.
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