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Poem
In the depths of the night, where thoughts float like autumn leaves,
I realize that my most intimate thoughts and emotions do not truly belong to me.
We think in languages and images we did not invent,
Received from society, a gift wrapped in shadows and light.
The word &quot;person&quot; comes from the Latin &quot;persona,&quot; the mask worn by actors,
Through which the sound would resonate, the role we play in the grand play of life.
Thus, the person is the mask, the role I interpret,
And friends, relatives, and teachers are busy telling me who I am and what my life's purpose is.
In the stream of consciousness, I wonder who I truly am,
Am I merely the echo of what I have been told?
Or is there an essence, hidden beneath layers of masks,
A soul crying out to be discovered, to be free?
In this world of mirrors, where each reflects the expectations of others,
I strive to find my own light, my own sound,
But often I lose myself in the labyrinth of imposed roles,
Trying to dance to a melody that is not mine.
Oh, how we get lost in these predefined roles,
Forgetting that we are more than the masks we wear,
Deep within us, where silence meets truth,
There is a light, a flame that burns with a gentle intensity.
In the silent garden of personal growth, I take off my mask,
And let the wind caress my true face,
There, in the cool of the evening, I find sweet fruits of wisdom,
Enough to nourish me and to share with others.
In this garden, my soul finds solace,
Every thought a flower, every emotion a ripe fruit,
I learn to live beyond imposed roles and masks,
And to embrace the magic of my authentic existence.
So let those who wish to define me follow their own path,
I will remain in my garden, where thoughts are free,
Where the heart beats strong and true,
In the stream of consciousness, I find peace and truth,
And in sharing my sweet fruits, I find connection and my humanity.
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