In the darkness of the night, when the stars weave their destinies
In the darkness of the night, when the stars weave their destinies,
And the moon bathes its face in silver lakes,
Eternal thoughts float, like everlasting shadows,
In the deep sanctuary of the heart, sadness dons its cloak.
I do not mean to be nostalgic about suffering,
But in the heart of the night, pain is the divine alchemist,
Oh, those who do not feel the tremor of loss and longing,
Will never fully penetrate the enigmatic realms of their own nature.
Beneath the branches of the mystical tree of life,
The thirst to know the infinite is born within us,
From the cracks of the soul, wings of light grow,
And tears turn into crystals of divine essence.
In the mirror of suffering, refined truths are revealed,
From the ashes of internal fires, we are reborn like phoenix birds,
For those who cannot walk through the abyss of pain,
Remain trapped in labyrinths of illusions and voices blown by the wind.
Thus, suffering becomes our solemn mage,
A ritualistic dance under the infinite, clear and mysterious sky,
In the echo of suffering, we discover ancient essences,
On the initiatic path, with shadowed and sacred steps.
Through the mists of suffering, we find who we are,
Lost sparks in the cosmic night, we become stars,
Guided through labyrinths, we learn to shine,
The mystique of sadness is the flame that lights our path to transcendence.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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