Under the endless mantle of infinity, where ancient times hide their secrets
Under the endless mantle of infinity, where ancient times hide their secrets,
History is a nightmare shrouded in veils of dark mystery,
A tapestry of shadows and lights, a labyrinth of untold destinies,
In which my wandering soul seeks an awakening from the eternal spell of the past.
My being, caught in the web of ancient dreams, faces the storms of memory,
Bearing the burden of an unscrutined past, a dance of shadows and pale stars,
I try to unravel the threads woven by the spiders of time, to dispel the storms of the night,
Seeking liberation in the first ray of light of an unknown morning.
Under the vault of night, when stars whisper long-forgotten stories,
History pours its echoes on the wings of time, planting past dreams in the dawn,
Invisible mirrors reflect faces of yesteryears, phantoms in the permanence of fog,
A melancholic realm where the rivers of the heart flow calmly, but heavily.
Every sunrise and every sunset,
Blend into the contours of an ancient destiny inscribed in the mantle of eternity,
I struggle to free myself from the chains of the past, from the phantasms of history,
Seeking the pure light that shatters the darkness into divine fragments.
The world of dreams and that of reverie intertwine in a sacred dance,
In the twilight of eternity, where full lights embrace delicate shadows,
Enveloped in melancholy, under the endless sky, with stars whispering sacred lights,
I try to decipher the hidden codes of a history that dominates me.
History is a nightmare woven from threads of suffering and longing,
Each line, a lost memory, an echo of dreams long gone,
I try to liberate myself from this labyrinth of time, to embrace new dawns,
To wake up in an unprecedented world, where the seas are clear and stormless.
Each night when the moon spreads its silver veils,
And the wind hums the forgotten story of the stars, I tread on the tracks of shadows,
Rediscovering my story, written in pages of gentle lights and shadows,
Seeking a rebirth, an explosion of light in the eternal rustle of life.
Lost between reality and metaphor, between dream and the nightmare of history,
I cling to the wing of a dream, trying to be reborn,
To liberate my soul from the chains of a past that haunts me,
And to start a new chapter, written in the pure and untarnished light of dawn.
History, a nightmare from which I strive to detach,
Is a lesson of light and darkness, of consuming love and pain,
Urging me to embrace the shadows of the past,
And to step, with a free soul, into the hazy clarity of a new sunrise.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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