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Poem

The world teeters between chaos and coherence, a paradox I embrace,
without solving it, like a living enigma whispering stories in my ear.
I wonder about the architecture of destiny—does it sculpt us,
or do we shape it with trembling hands, seeking forms in the mist?
Doubt retreats like fog on a river at first light,
but beneath, the current surges forward, tireless and determined.
I've seen ruins bloom with wildflowers, silence giving birth to symphonies,
and despair opening up to let the light gently enter.
I hesitate and analyze, losing myself in the labyrinth of ceaseless thoughts,
yet I step forward—for skepticism cannot deny possibility,
for in every step, even the hesitant one, lies a promise,
and between chaos and coherence, I find a place where my soul can dance.
In this dance of uncertainty, I carry the sculptor's tools in my hands,
for each choice is a chisel's strike, each dream a contour,
and even if my hands tremble, I do not stop, for I know that in silence
lies the chance to transform ruins into gardens and shadows into light.
So I clothe myself in the courage to step forward through the mist of time,
for between doubt and certainty exists a bridge of endless possibilities,
and in this journey of shaping destiny, I discover that true art
is creating harmony from the chaos of the universe, to live in balance.

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