Dan Enache Poet Free verse

In the silence of the night, when stars whisper incomprehensible secrets

In the silence of the night, when stars whisper incomprehensible secrets,
Memories sing to me like a wind tearing through deep stillness.
Her dance's metaphors are waves crashing against cliffs of thought,
A paradox of love that burns without casting light.
I know all her songs like a prayer of self-loss,
While mine are birds without wings, flights to nowhere.
I read her books as if each word were a shooting star,
But she never gazed at my sky, full of unknown constellations.
In her films, I found tears born from laughter of days gone by,
But mine she let flow into rivers without banks.
A ritual of forgetting, a mystery of unshared love,
I murmured her poems like unanswered prayers.
I tell myself that love is not a mirror, but a labyrinth of solitude,
Where shadows of desires intertwine with the light of hope.
I wonder, on nights when the wind sings my songs,
If she ever tried to listen to the silence within me.

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