05/11/2025
At the dawn of silence, you write poetry,
yet by twilight’s breath, poetry writes you,
a circle of grace that never ends.
Writing, dear beloved, is not expression alone,
but a sacred rerouting of the soul’s journey,
a whisper from spirit to ink.
Each word is a seed of remembrance,
sprouting roots beneath your ribs,
blooming unseen within the heart.
The paper may appear empty,
yet it carries your unseen sky,
where inner stars begin to shine.
Words do not only speak outward,
they weave a quiet music within,
from healing, to happiness, to harmony.
Each syllable carries a drop of mercy,
each pause, a doorway to awakening,
each line, a returning home.
To grow deep, dear soul of light,
you must walk the inner forest alone,
where stillness becomes your friend.
What you meet outside the gate of senses,
is but an echo of your inner dialogue,
a mirror reflecting unseen prayers.
Ordinary eyes see waste in falling leaves,
gardeners thank the gift of decay,
meditators hear the sigh of surrender.
Yet you, the poet of tenderness,
read the silent scripture of autumn,
in the holy pages of time and space.
Falling leaves become verses of farewell,
writing poems of surrender in silence,
songs of homecoming without words.
Poetry of flowing, poetry of thanking,
where endings are rebirths in disguise,
and losses are veils of new love.
The path has no end, only depth,
a river widening into oneness,
the journey itself, the luminous reward.
Light understands its own glow,
peace smiles gently to its calmness,
love inhales its own fragrance.
All beauty returns to its source,
like moonlight dissolving into dawn,
like your breath merging with eternity.
Even when age paints your outer walls,
your inner temple remains timeless,
singing silently through each heartbeat.
Every smile is medicine for the world,
every presence, a sun in disguise,
poetry in human form — that is you.
Poetry in Human Form...
---By Guruji Gede Prama
Shambala meditation center: bellofpeace.org belkedamaian.org