Wanderer

Across the worn roads of silence,

you walk — not for glory,

but because the earth still asks

your footsteps to remember it.

Your hands carry both callouses and tenderness,

scars that speak of battles no crowd ever saw.

The nights have taken much,

yet your eyes hold embers,

small fires no storm could steal.

The world has bent your shoulders,

but never your will.

You have walked through betrayals,

through shadows that pressed close,

and still you rose

as dawn rises, fragile but unbroken.

There is a sorrow in you

like an ocean without end,

and yet it makes your soul vast —

a place where both grief and hope

find shelter.

One day, when your body yields

to the quiet the earth demands,

those who remember will say:

Here was one who carried pain

like a crown of thorns,

yet still loved the sky.

And though your steps

may vanish from the dust,

the echo of your courage

will linger —

a soft thunder

in the hearts of those who listen.