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Poem

From time to time, I think I'm right about mistakes,
And I dismiss any other speculation, a scattering of thoughts in the wind.
I don't know what anything is, but it's precisely this unknown that frees me,
For freedom comes not from seeking answers, but from living in the question.
On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with me, a reassuring certainty.
I've never doubted anything, for nothing carries burdens.
Soon, I will transition to the absence of the presence of absence, a concept shrouded in mystery,
Meaning being there without obligations, without reasons, just a simple and pure existence.
A silent witness to the world, without goals, without chains of thoughts and desires,
A stream of consciousness unfolding endlessly, like a river of time,
Where each moment is a universe, and each breath is a verse.
And so, I lose myself in contemplation, in a silence that binds the sky to the earth,
In a dance of the mind that no longer seeks, but simply is, without being anything else,
A silent poetry that writes itself in the soul, without asking to be understood,
Only lived, felt, like an echo of a dream that needs no explanations.

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