On the narrow streets of the city where light barely sneaks in
On the narrow streets of the city where light barely sneaks in,
The best people meet their end beneath a forgotten sheet of paper,
While the worst rise in bronze, statues for ages of oblivion,
Stone pilgrims on which pigeons leave their mark unabashedly.
In this theater of life, where values are overturned on the empty stage,
Unknown heroes disappear in silence, in corners of the world unknown,
Embracing shadows like a cloak that hides their light,
While false glory shines in the midday sun.
And yet, deep in the soul, among the ruins of unfulfilled dreams,
There is a light that cannot be extinguished by the indifference of time,
A silent song that echoes amid the bitterness of the past,
Reminding that true statues are erected in the hearts of people.
In this stream of consciousness, where thoughts mingle in silence,
Watching how time carves into stone that knows not the pain of being,
I find my faith in those who seek neither recognition nor statue,
But leave their mark through simple gestures, in the hearts of those who love.
Here, in the quiet between heartbeats and the whispers of the evening wind,
An understanding is born that true heroism demands no applause or bronze,
But just a warm smile and a serene gaze, like a sun that never sets,
Guiding us through the night, like a lighthouse illuminating the way home.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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