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Poem

I looked in the mirror and saw you, my lost child,
You, a falling star in the night of time, buried beneath a sky full of silences,
You were a whirlwind of questions, a storm of thoughts dancing in the moonlight,
A rain of tears flowing secretly, wrapping your eyes in veils of mystery.
I remember the song of your questions, whose vibrations disturbed the silence:
"What does a wolf do when it's cast out of its pack, from the dance of the stars?
What can it do, other than seek the shadow of survival among the shadows?
Can it find a new sky, a new song of the heart in the fields of dreams?
Does it deserve to embrace the silence, or at least a drop of peace?"
I thought I had woven an answer from the threads of time,
Letting the rest settle like a blanket of darkness over your dreams.
But I was wrong, oh, how wrong I was, for the mirror whispered the truth to me,
That crystal window through which I looked and saw that your echoes are mine.
Now, your questions dance within me like restless spirits of the night,
Resounding like an endless symphony under the vaults of memory,
Spinning in circles like the wind lifting the veil of forgetfulness,
In a world where wolves wander, seeking a clear sky among the stars.
And I wonder, my child, if you found the answers,
In that place where rest is not just a dream woven from illusions,
Where wolves find peace and we, the ones left behind,
Look in the mirror and seek to find our souls,
Asking ourselves, always asking,
If we deserve to dance beneath the stars, or at least to dream.

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