Questions I Often Ask Myself

 

Why does the morning sun scatter

light across the kitchen table like

a golden painter splashing vibrant

colors on an old and faded canvas?

 

What is the secret life of shadows

that slip beneath the bedroom door,

whispering mysteries of the night

to the moon hanging low and silent?

 

How does the coffee cup hold the

warmth of conversation, cradling

stories that swirl like steam rising

from the surface of forgotten dreams?

 

When will the garden finally reveal

its quiet truths hidden in petals,

the delicate language of blooms that

unfold like ancient, whispered secrets?

 

Why do the leaves flutter their green

wings, a dance choreographed by

an unseen hand, guiding them toward

the inevitable embrace of autumn?

 

What lies beneath the surface of

the river's gentle murmur, a song

composed of centuries, carrying

echoes of voices long forgotten?

 

How does the night sky manage to

contain so many stars, a vast and

silent map of wonder that stretches

beyond the reach of our small lives?

 

When will I find the answers to

these questions that linger, like

ghosts in the corners of my mind,

whispering their eternal enigmas?