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Poem

Adults, they tell us,
this slow unraveling of innocence into something more akin to survival,
the colors fade, the music dulls,
and the world, once so wild and wide,
narrows into roads lined with expectations and sacrifices.
And in the silence of the evening, when shadows creep along the walls like forgotten whispers,
I think of my childhood, that realm of untouched dreams,
where each day was an adventure into the unknown, an unwritten story
in which I could be anything, anyone, without the fear of tomorrow, without the weight of the days to come.
But now, my steps are measured, my path charted by others,
with each decision, with each choice, I feel a part of me getting lost,
dissolving into this sea of conformity, of compromise,
and I wonder, when did I become the stranger in the mirror, when did I forget to fly?
The colors, once vibrant and pulsing, are now pale shadows of memories,
the music, once the echo of childhood laughter and songs, is now just a muffled murmur,
and the world, once so vast and full of promises, has shrunk
into a network of well-trodden roads, paved with expectations
and sacrifices that seem never-ending.
And yet, somewhere deep inside me, in that dark and forgotten corner,
there still exists a spark, a fragment of magic, a glimmer of hope.
Perhaps, one day, I will find that lost innocence,
I will find that freedom, that wildness of untamed dreams,
and I will relearn to fly, to sing, to see once more the vibrant colors of the world.
But until then, I continue to walk these narrow roads,
with a heart heavy with desires and sacrifices,
searching for that lost magic, that untarnished innocence
in a world that seems to shrink with every step,
but which still holds, in its depths, the promise of a miracle.

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