In the night that swallows distances with a rustle of wings
In the night that swallows distances with a rustle of wings,
I let myself be carried over the vast expanse of whispering dreams,
Seeking the holy light in the webs of destiny,
On the edge of this abyss of melancholy that envelops me.
I stand on the shore of thoughts, like a castaway of my own consciousness,
And gaze into the depths of the water that reflects shadows of unrest,
Unwritten verses of poetry flowing like sand through fingers,
I try to cling to the fine lines of hidden meaning.
Perhaps the truth resides in these fragile moments,
Where the purpose is nothing more than to continue breathing,
To swim through the endless waves of life,
Until my weary body seeks the eternal rest of the waters.
But I do not seek death, even if I embrace it in thought,
I do not want to drown in oblivion, but to dance on its troubled surface,
Like a lost boat, swaying between desire and despair,
Floating on the sea of transformation to the edges of existence.
My purpose is to delve into the depth of each moment,
To breathe the salty air of reality and to embrace illusions,
To transform each moment of agony into a drop of poetry,
And let it drip, giving life to an ocean of infinity.
This melancholic journey is not one towards lost depths,
But a subtle dance on the mirror of the spirit born from fragments,
Where each swim is a testament to the silent desire,
To live, to feel, to love, to the edge of dreams.
And perhaps, when I dive into the waves
And feel myself sinking into the final tranquility,
I will not die, but become one with the life-giving water,
Becoming one with the sea of infinity, where all things are born and vanish.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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