Solitude
In the hush where echoes rest,
the world grows distant, thought confessed.
No crowd, no voice, no restless call,
just silence draped, a gentle shawl.
The trees lean close, their whispers slow,
a language only stillness know.
The air is soft, the hours wide,
time unravels, side by side.
Alone, yet not bereft of grace,
a mirror shows the inner face.
The heart learns how to speak its song,
without the need to move along.
For solitude is not a cage,
but quiet ink on life’s own page.
A pause, a breath, a secret key,
unlocking deeper ways to be.