BIRTHDAY

At dawn’s white edge of waking light,

where silence holds the morning tight,

Time turns to me and asks with might—

“What is the meaning of your birth tonight?”

A birthday is not counted years,

but quiet thoughts the soul reveres,

a yielding heart that slowly hears

the whispered truth behind its fears.

The faded pages open slow—

old shadows where the lost winds blow,

blue stains of longings we let go,

joy’s fleeting spark, and sorrow’s glow.

The world, in all its tangled call,

burns through the layers, tests them all;

for only when the stones will fall

does hidden gold break through the wall.

Your presence clears the inward view,

reveals what’s deep, what’s real, what’s true;

it breaks the chains I never knew,

and ends the struggles I once drew.

At dusk, the lamp’s soft trembling flame

speaks truths that no one else can name—

that birth’s deep meaning never came

from time, but from a single claim:

If you’re the pulse that won’t depart,

the introspection beneath my heart—

then every moment, set apart,

becomes the day my births re-start.

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