The Birds

Their eyes refuse to close in sleep—

On this spring night,

I lie on my bed.

—What time is it now? Late, so late!

From that direction comes the sound of the sea,

The skylight above me,

And in the sky, birds converse with each other.

Where do they go when they leave the sky?

The scent of their wings drifts all around.

My body tastes the essence of this spring night;

My eyes refuse to succumb to sleep.

Through the window, starlight descends,

Carried by the ocean breeze,

And my heart finds peace.

Everyone sleeps soundly in every direction—

By the edge of this sea, whose anchor has found its time?

Beyond the sea, farther still,

On some polar mountain,

These birds once lived.

Chased by blizzards, flock after flock descended upon the sea,

Like humans falling into the unconsciousness of death.

Within their brown, golden, or white fluttering wings,

In small chests like rubber balls,

Lay their lives—

As vast and profound as the truth hidden beneath miles of ocean waves.

Somewhere life exists—the taste of life lingers,

Somewhere river water remains—not the bitter foam of the sea.

Their hearts, like playthings, have understood:

Somewhere winter lies behind them, and they’ve come seeking solace.

Then they depart for some field;

Flying through the sky with their beloved,

What words do they exchange?

It is time for their first egg to be born.

After mixing much salt, the smell of this earth has been found in the sea—

Love and the child of love,

And that nest,

This taste—deep, so deep.

Tonight, on this spring night,

Eyes refuse to close in sleep.

From that direction comes the sound of the sea,

The skylight above me,

And in the sky, birds converse with each other.

The Eternal Flight

O restless soul, lying awake beneath the stars,

What truths do you seek in the whispers of the night?

The birds’ voices echo not just in the sky,

But within the chambers of your own heart.

Their flight mirrors yours—a journey without end,

A quest for meaning amidst the boundless expanse.

Listen closely now to the rhythm of the waves,

To the sighs carried by the wind.

They speak of ancient migrations,

Of creatures driven by instinct and longing.

Each flap of a bird’s wing writes a story in the air,

A tale of survival, of hope, of homecoming.

But tell me, traveler, where is your destination?

Do you follow the pull of distant horizons,

Or are you content to drift, unmoored,

Letting the currents guide you wherever they may?

Look now at the horizon, where sea meets sky—

A thin line separating existence from infinity.

Here, in this liminal space, miracles unfold:

Sunrise paints the world anew,

Sunset bids farewell with golden tears.

Each moment births infinity, each breath holds eternity.

Do you recall the scent of freshly cut grass,

The laughter of children echoing through village lanes?

These fragments of beauty are threads woven into the tapestry of being.

They remind us that life is both fragile and resilient,

A dance of light and shadow, joy and sorrow.

And yet, amidst the ephemeral, there is permanence—

Not in objects, but in essence.

The song of the cuckoo lingers in spring air,

The taste of rain remains on parched lips,

The warmth of a mother’s embrace lives forever in the heart.

Such moments transcend time, becoming eternal.

But tell me, wanderer, what will you carry with you

When the final curtain falls?

Will it be regret for roads untaken,

Or gratitude for journeys completed?

Will you mourn the loss of youth,

Or celebrate the wisdom gained with age?

Death is not an end, but a threshold—

A doorway leading to realms unknown.

Just as rivers merge with oceans,

So too does the soul dissolve into infinity.

What fears can bind us when we realize

That we are already part of something greater than ourselves?

Imagine, then, crossing that threshold—

Leaving behind the familiar, stepping into mystery.

Will you meet ancestors waiting to guide you,

Or find yourself alone in boundless light?

Perhaps neither, perhaps both;

The truth eludes definition, defies comprehension.

Yet one thing is certain: love endures.

It flows through veins unseen, binds hearts unbroken.

Even in death, it remains—a beacon guiding us home.

For love is not confined to flesh and bone;

It transcends form, existing beyond the limits of mortality.

So let us live fully, love deeply, dream boldly,

Until the final hour arrives.

Let us cherish the ordinary, for it holds extraordinary grace.

Let us honor the earth, which sustains us,

And the sky, which inspires us.

Let us walk gently upon this sacred ground,

Leaving behind footprints of kindness, not destruction.

When the sun sets for the last time,

May we close our eyes with peace in our hearts.

May we leave behind a legacy of light,

So that others may follow in our footsteps,

Guided by the same eternal spark.

Thus, O wanderer, fear not the end—

For endings are merely beginnings in disguise.

Embrace the journey, savor the moments,

And trust that beyond the horizon,

A new dawn awaits, radiant and infinite.