The sky is heavy with clouds,
yet the light presses through,
a quiet persistence,
gentle and unyielding.
The soil, dry and cracked,
still holds seeds
that dream of rain
and sunlit days.
A bird takes flight,
its wings stretching wide,
carrying no promises,
only motion, only hope.
Each breath is a beginning,
each step, a possibility.
Even in shadow,
the heart leans toward the light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem