In the late interlude of existence, a woman
In the late interlude of existence, a woman,
Readies herself to step into the celebration of her seventieth year.
She asks, has she found the soul's peace,
Fulfillment, the joy of life, or does she still wander
In search of answers to old questions,
Returning to "what if's” in a world devoid of echoes.
Her descendants prepare for her a grand celebration,
Her grandchildren, stars around her, shining to honor the occasion.
Are they the mirror of her pride?
Or is her heart weighted with ungiven time,
Persistent worries, endless wishes for better?
The extended family gathers, in this festive moment,
Yet she feels distant, a stranger in her own narrative.
Life has not followed her dreams; it has been a path of storms,
But from each trial, she learned to be strong,
To embrace her days with gratitude, to leave phantoms behind,
To graciously accept the unanticipated gifts of fate.
Once asked about future plans,
She dreamed of grandeur, yet found only silence in responses.
Now, with serene wisdom, she whispers her creed: "let it be",
Finding answers in the song of stars, in the breeze's caress.
Her dreams, unfulfilled, but never forsaken,
Urge her to dream anew, to reinvent,
To live each moment, to carve her own path of happiness,
For in the end, you are the architect of your own life.
Thus, this woman, free from the concerns of tomorrow,
Dances to rhythms of eternity, living in the present,
Changing with each day like a gentle balm,
Embracing life, in all its complexity, with an open heart.
Ahhh... to live each moment as an endless gift,
In this mystical tableau, where every verse is a melancholic sigh.
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