What if the stars hold secrets
we'll never know,
and paths not taken linger
somewhere, unseen?
Questions drift like leaves on a restless wind,
touching briefly, then fading into silence.
A thousand echoes of what could have been,
woven in the spaces between breaths.
We carry them quietly, like shadows,
these fragments of wonder,
of all that might be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem