Somewhere beyond the curve of the earth,
where the sky bends into light,
a hush lingers in colors too soft to name.
The wind hums secrets to the trees,
lifting the weight of yesterday,
carrying dreams like feathers
to a place where time unfolds slowly.
Here, the sun does not chase shadows,
nor does the rain fall in sorrow.
It merely exists, a quiet witness
to the footsteps of those who wander
without fear, without longing-
only the gentle pull of wonder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem