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Poem
Once, I sang without thinking—
notes spilling like sunlight
through trembling leaves,
a language woven from breath and wind,
a melody that painted the endless sky,
dancing on the morning breeze,
weaving stories of hope and light.

My voice was free,
each note a flickering flame,
threading the world together
from dawn’s first blush
to twilight’s soft sigh,
lifting hearts and stirring dreams
with the simple gift of song.

But then silence came—
quiet as falling feathers,
heavy as the weight of absence,
and my song slipped away,
lost in shadows deeper than night,
a voice swallowed whole by the void,
leaving hollow spaces where music lived.

I searched the empty air,
reaching for scattered notes,
trying to gather the melody
that once filled mornings with hope,
but silence held me captive,
an invisible cage made of absence,
where sound dissolved like mist at dawn,
and echoes faded before they could be heard.

Days passed like restless wings
beating against unseen glass,
and I became still,
listening not for my voice,
but for the pulse beneath the quiet—
the soft rustle of life awakening,
the gentle glow of dawn’s early light,
the fragile hope that a song
might one day be born anew.

Sometimes, when the wind shifts just right,
I catch the echo of a forgotten note—
soft, fragile, like a long-lost sigh,
calling me back to the place
where music waits beneath loss,
and silence is only a pause
between the beats of a hidden heart.

Even in silence,
there is rhythm—
a heartbeat beneath stillness,
waiting patiently
for its voice to return,
for wings to spread wide
and songs to soar once more.

One day, my song will rise again—
soft at first,
a trembling note born of longing,
growing stronger,
spreading wings of sound
across the empty sky,
filling the world
with melodies I thought lost forever,
a chorus of hope reborn from quiet.

Until then, I remain—
a bird with quiet wings,
carrying the memory of music in my bones,
and the promise that silence
is never the end,
only the breath before a new beginning.
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