The silence of mine breeds fear,
when I foresee an inner voice to cheer.
Soon, it reflects my being,
I realise it is a quiet psyche.
I never know from which source it endured birth,
when it can cause turbulence,
or if it brings a sweet, flowing dew.
I tell myself it’s the beginning of a tale,
never knowing if it will turn into a beautiful haze,
from which I pass and reach a place
that offers me another possibility of cognisance.
Made of clouds in a colourful maze,
where I write the verses of an allegory
that never fades from the soul.
It’s a gamble I would change,
a state that will not be permanent.
There is always a verse
where I meet God,
who brings a new chord of inspiration?
And decorates my rainbow of shades with fresh vision.
Then, I will finally find myself in that fascination.
I could never forget my destination,
the place where I began and completed my rhythm.
That curiousness even carries an air of silence;
it invites another question,
bringing this dawn another treat,
filling this quietness with uproar.
My soul longs for another shore,
where I sit and wait for peace,
offering me a path to my source.
I ride along with existence,
which has set an example,
finding peace through a touch of humour
and filling it with another mystery of vigour.
I understand the way to live,
with every moment gifting me
a beautiful trail of melody,
where I lose ignorance,
and rooting out my reality.
