In the silent sanctuary of melancholy, a stir is born

In the silent sanctuary of melancholy, a stir is born, The flow of consciousness streams like a river from the depths of creativity, Where each soul finds its unique, unsearched significance, And yet, defeated by the irony of fate, the individual relinquishes their sacred right, To take all that is offered without critique, without seeing, For they walk a path marked by the rigid patterns of society. In this dance of shadows and fragile light, My thoughts dissolve into the universe of the unsaid, Every aspect of reality becomes a symbol of resignation, A mask of a lost intention, hardened in the stigmas of norms, A tragedy born from the fear of stepping out of the communal mold, While the incredible cry of singularity tears the veil of the banal, The stalactite plates of the mind, thawed in the flow of an uninterrupted dream. Guided by the awakening of a consciousness traveling in the void, I see how ideas are born, like streams of light in a void of shadows, But man, last in line to believe in himself, relinquishes his divine right To conform, to become an echo of old structures, Each symbol, a mute noise, each thought, a repetitive template, In this world where the meanings of being are cemented in instinct. And yet, the ceaseless flow of creation urges me to look beyond, There where the seed of uniqueness lies hidden in the arid soil of conformity, A story not illuminated by the tired light of fields of stars, A flight of unwritten thoughts on the sky full of lost hope. From this tumult of thought, I hear the persistent song of individuality, An unwritten hymn, a sacred symphony of the invisible soul, Rhythms pulsing with the call of unconditional freedom. You are, lost soul in social labyrinths, Your being sculpted by the unrelenting hand of patterns, But in the silent sanctuary, the force of life is reborn from the depths, The ineffable call to signify, to create luminously in the darkness, To break the chains of standardization and resonate with the cosmos, Through what you are, through what you become, shedding the garments of convention. In the flow of consciousness that streams unrestrained, I feel how meanings return to the native, authentic source, Each unique note, each cry an unbound verse, And thus, I reclaim the right to create new significances, In the uninterrupted dance of the soul, in the forests of melancholy, Where tragedy transforms into living poetry, In the sacred mystery of life that eternally reinvents itself.