Echoes in between
Prologue
A Poetry collection of moments that arrive quietly, between the chapters of life. Some are soft, some sharp, some fleeting. They do not instruct, they do not resolve. They simply echo. They echo the inner landscapes we traverse, the emotions we feel, the memories we carry, the whispers of our soul. Some poems are windows; others are mirrors. Some remind us of what we are, others of what we can dream. These poems were written from the heart, in between the noise and the stillness, in between thought and feeling, in between moments of now.
May they remind you of your own echoes in between.
Painted Silence
In moments when emotions want to be felt,
the eyes are to be blind.
For the only eyes you need to feel
are those from your heart.
As I let all this beauty flow through me,
I take off my glasses,
close my eyes,
and see.
Painted in emotions,
nothing has ever felt clearer,
or closer.
Visitors
As I walk outside,
I pause at the scenery,
quiet the noise around me.
The beauty before my eyes.
As I look up:
cold, deep blue sky.
Warm, bright lamp lights,
contrasting before me.
I wonder:
Does one realize
we are on Earth?
Beautiful, vibrant Earth,
where beauty is truly seen
through the window of one’s soul.
Croissant moon,
hello dear friend.
So many walk past you,
but few see you.
Few have opened
their window to you.
Beautiful, vibrant Earth.
The buses, the traffic,
all quiet now,
as my window is wide open.
Open, as my soul remembers:
We are all
just visitors.
Forgotten (Remember)
How could you
have forgotten?
Forgotten that we once
dreamt of living here.
Don’t you remember?
We once dreamt,
dreamt of experiencing
this life.
The pressure
was to shape you like a diamond,
formed under time and weight,
so you would remember your origin,
how it all came to be.
A living dream,
once dreamt of,
now living.
Have you forgotten?
We are passengers
on a ship of becoming.
Students
in the classroom of time.
Diamonds
under the pressure of existence.
It won’t always be.
But now you are.
Lessons from the Sky
One does learn a lot
by staring at the sky.
All it asks for
is patience.
Long enough
can be five eternal minutes.
If you stay,
if you truly stay,
you begin to understand
what noise could never teach.
One minute,
cotton white stained with blue.
Another,
a blue ocean brushed with snow.
Then gray,
heavy with arrival.
Then dark,
like a lonely soul at sea.
And yet,
it never remains.
Even the darkest canvas softens.
Even the storm thins.
Blue returns.
Orange follows.
A pale pink quietly rising
where darkness once felt endless.
One does learn a lot
by staring at the sky.
Mostly this:
nothing stays.