Where The Soul Sleeps Softly Poem by Aradhya Satapathy

In the hush between moonrise and dawn,
where silence spills like silver thread,
the soul unbuttons its quiet yawn
and lays its longing down to bed.

Beneath the breath of cedar trees,
where time forgets to count its cost,
a whisper curls upon the breeze—
the voice of something never lost.

No name it bears, this inner light,
yet every petal knows its grace.
It dances barefoot into night
and paints with stars the unseen face.

A field of dreams not touched by hands,
a river running through the heart,
it sings in tongues no mind understands,
but every ache has known its art.

Oh, this is not the world we see—
but what we feel when skies turn gold,
when shadows hum a symphony
and youth returns though we are old.

Here, love is not a thing we seek,
but breath itself—unforced, alive.
A trembling note the soul must speak
to know it dares to dream, to thrive.

So close your eyes. Let stillness flow.
Let every wound be kissed by light.
You are the poem you long to knoweternally becoming... night.