A quiet child, with gaze lost in distant horizons

A quiet child, with gaze lost in distant horizons, Whispers numbers that float like stars on the infinite sky of night— The outer world dissolves into an unclear and distant dream, But within him, constellations illuminate like hot blood, close and near. He sings an ancient song, born from the silence of the universe, Brings to light springs hidden in the depths of oblivion, A thousand keys spin in his palm like a dance of fireflies, Opening oceans of mystery and unspoken lands, carried by wind. He counts the birds before they find their rest on earth, Knows the shape of every thread of wind that weaves the air into silk canvases— His thoughts flow like underground rivers, deeper than the warm milk of morning. He perceives the world in a flame of colors, a spectacle of imagination, Where each leaf calls out its name like a summons to the soul, And even though silence embraces him tightly like a silk veil, From this stillness is born a strange light, but full of tenderness. His soul sings in a mute harmony, a hymn of the unseen universe, A music of the stars that is born from the depths of eternal silence.