It Part Of Life Poem by Thato Selomane

No flower apologizes
for blooming after winter.

No river questions
the stones that slowed its song.

No mountain mourns
the storms that carved its face.

Only we,
the keepers of restless hearts,
believe life should arrive
without sorrow,
without waiting,
without change.

We mistake delay for defeat,
silence for abandonment,
and endings for the death of hope.

Yet life whispers
what fear refuses to hear:

Nothing stays.

Not the laughter.

Not the tears.

Not the seasons
that leave our hands trembling
beneath unfamiliar skies.

The child becomes the stranger.

The stranger becomes the teacher.

The wound becomes the wisdom.

The question becomes the path.

And the path becomes the home
we never knew we were searching for.

Perhaps we were never meant
to escape the breaking.

Perhaps we were meant
to discover that every fracture
lets another ray of light enter.

To lose.

To love.

To fail.

To begin again.

To carry memories
that ache like old songs
yet somehow teach the heart
a gentler way to beat.

There is no perfect life.

There is only this one—

unfinished,
unpredictable,
beautiful in its ordinary miracles.

So when joy visits,
welcome it.

When grief arrives,
listen to it.

When hope returns,
walk beside it.

For every sunrise,
every goodbye,
every unanswered prayer,
every impossible dream,
every quiet victory,
and every step toward becoming

is not separate from life.

It is life.

It has always been,

and it will always be,

part of life.