The life of every man is infinite, a canvas stretched beyond the horizons

The life of every man is infinite, a canvas stretched beyond the horizons, A silent theater where the mysteries of the restless being are played without words, Where thoughts are ships that float on seas of untraveled constellations, The depths of the soul – endless oceans that embrace the elusive skies. Thus, each moment becomes a ritual in the temple of ancient time, With long verses written by the unseen hands of destiny, incessantly, Breaths quiver like leaves under the breath of primal winds, Scattered we are, seeds of the night, germinating secretly in fields of existence. From beneath the cloak of night, the moon carves the filigree of boundless memory, We are omnipresent in the whisper stretching from one corner to another of the infinite, Hidden in the untamed aura of the spheres, we chant mystically and taciturn, Wings of light that cleave the twilight, search for the roots of the lost sky. In thickets of enigmatic dreams, we wander through the universal labyrinth, Worlds are born and die within us, with every breath that breaks the infinite stillness, Lives meander through us like rivers merging with the dark sea, In eternal struggle with the mist, unseen truths are woven into the stars that watch over us. We spend our days gathering echoes of a magic that slips between moments, Beneath the lofty vault, our soul traverses the tangible frontiers of matter, In seraphic harmony, we are spirals in dance, torches burning in the sanctuary of silence, Within ourselves, we find the solemn echo of the heavenly song, the prelude of a divine symphony. The spheres know our names, within them, destinies are stars pulsing in harmony, We weave incessantly, as heirs of the mystery, the dark cloak of starry nights, Spirits bound by the invisible thread of hope that reveals itself in perpetual dream, A living tableau, painted with sunbeams woven into the heart of the breathing universe.