The sky stretches vast, a canvas of shifting hues,
clouds drifting in silent procession.
A river carves its path, indifferent to the stones it smooths,
to the roots it nourishes or leaves behind.
Moments fold into each other,
layers of light and shadow,
etching the story of a world
that never pauses to explain itself.
In the rustling leaves of a tree that once was young,
in the quiet cracks spreading through stone,
In the patient bloom of a flower unseen,
time whispers truths no voice can hold.
What will remain, what will fade-
questions woven into the fabric of a universe
that never seeks an answer.
Only time can tell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem