In the labyrinth of memory, shadows dance on the walls of recollection, whispering untold stories
In the labyrinth of memory, shadows dance on the walls of recollection, whispering untold stories,
And I, an eternal child, wander through the corridors of time, seeking answers in the eyes of those who raised me.
They, the wellsprings of my being, unwittingly poured their turbid waters into my soul,
A broken mirror in which I see the reflection of their own wounds, amplified by the echo of my own fears.
But they too, once children, drank from the same bitter waters, poisoned by the shadows of the past,
Involuntary bearers of a heavy inheritance, passed down from generation to generation like a merciless disease.
I see in their eyes unshed tears, in their smiles, hidden grimaces of unspoken pain,
And in their deafening silences, I hear the muffled cries of the children they once were.
This chain of suffering stretches into the past like an infinite spider's web,
Each generation adding new threads, new knots, new traps for those who will follow.
I feel caught in this web of time, struggling to free myself from the weight of history,
Seeking an exit from this labyrinth of inherited pain, a way to break the endless cycle.
In every gesture of tenderness, I see the shadow of an unhealed wound, in every harsh word, the echo of a forgotten suffering,
And my heart becomes a vessel too small for the ocean of melancholy that overflows from the depths of my being.
I wonder, in the silence of the night, how I could break this chain, heal these ancestral wounds,
To transform pain into wisdom, to alchemize suffering into compassion and love.
Perhaps salvation lies in awareness, in the power to face the shadows of the past without letting them define us,
In the courage to love despite the wounds, to create beauty from the ashes of inherited pain.
And thus, in the uninterrupted flow of consciousness, I find myself both child and parent,
Bearer of a complicated history, but also creator of a future yet unwritten, where scars become stories of healing and hope.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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