In the silent night, when the moon pours its silver over the world
In the silent night, when the moon pours its silver over the world,
I walk through the garden of shadows, seeking lost echoes,
I do not blame your steps for not staying,
But I accuse myself, the one who sought harmonies in your song,
The one who sought signs in your silence.
I do not blame your hands for crushing the butterflies,
But I take the blame for offering them a garden to rest their fragile wings,
I, the one who believed that seasons could be reborn from ashes,
The one who dreamed that the heart could be bandaged and restarted.
I do not blame your departure,
But I take the blame for loving a stranger,
I, the one who believed that love could break all barriers,
The one who hoped that your eyes would look back, even once.
I do not blame your indifference,
But I accuse myself for not being able to free my heart from its cage,
I, the one who wrote poems on the edge of an abyss,
The one who believed that perhaps, in my madness, I would be heard.
I do not blame your silence,
But neither do I blame myself for not ceasing to love,
I, the one who carried an unwritten story in my soul,
The one who sought answers in the stars and found only shadows.
In the silent night, when the moon pours its silver over the world,
I walk through the garden of shadows, seeking lost echoes,
And in every breeze, in every rustle of leaves,
I find a part of myself, the one who loved without asking for anything in return.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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