The Journey of Silence

Part I: The Birth of Silence

Silence is not the absence of sound,
it is the hidden language of the soul.
A language that cannot be heard with ears—
only the heart can understand it.

Beneath the spreading curtain of night,
I felt even the stars were speaking—
but only to those
who know how to listen.

The moon whispered:
"Everything fades,
yet light forever remains."

Part II: The Birds of Time

Time has its birds—
they fly unseen,
yet everyone feels
the wind of their wings.

Sometimes they sing gently,
bringing songs of love.
Sometimes they strike fiercely,
reopening old wounds.

I tried to hold time,
to capture it in my hands—
but like water,
it slipped through my fingers.

Part III: The Nature of Darkness

Darkness, too, has moods.
Sometimes it terrifies,
sometimes it unveils its secrets.

In darkness, the eyes of the soul awaken.
They see the truths
that daylight hides.

Darkness spoke to me:
"I am not your enemy.
I am only the place
where you can find your truest self."

Part IV: Footprints in Sand

Footprints on the sand—
the most fragile writing of time.

I wondered:
are we nothing more than passing marks?
Do our memories
fade with the first gust of wind?

Then came the tide—
erasing what was,
yet sketching a new circle.

It felt as though the universe said:
"To vanish is also to be reborn."

Part V: Circles of Moments

Moments are circles on water.
The first is small,
then it spreads,
spreads again,
until it dissolves into the sea.

Isn’t life the same?
One circle—birth,
then the widening—experience,
and finally the merging—
not into nothingness,
but into something vast.

Part VI: The Lamp of Memory

Every memory is a lamp.
Even after it burns out,
its glow lingers.

I held a memory close,
it burned me,
yet it also lit my path.

In the light of memory,
I learned:
man does not perish—
he transforms into a story.

Part VII: The Rain of Dreams

When the night is veiled by rain,
each drop becomes a dream.

Some dreams bloom
in the garden of the heart.
Some dreams heal wounds.
Some dreams shatter—
leaving only moisture behind.

But I have learned:
even broken dreams
keep the heart alive.

Part VIII: The Final Voice of Silence

In the end, silence returns.
It whispers:
"I am the beginning,
and I am the end.

Every sound rests in my arms,
every sound is born
from my womb."

I closed my eyes,
and felt it deeply—
silence is the true hymn of life.

Epilogue

The journey wandered
between light and shadow,
among footprints and the birds of time.

And silence taught me this:
everything fades,
but the story always remains.