Let I Rest

Let I rest, I say,
Slowly place my soul in sleep,
Where wandering is living,
And learning sings deep.

With each soul I meet,
A mirage in the sand,
I wake as a whisper,
A touch, a hand fades.

Fighting for peace,
With the body I roam,
Yet longing for silence,
A place to call home.

So let I rest, I say,
Like a feather on air,
Drifting in knowing,
No burden to bear.

Sometimes,
our faces betray the wars within,
a silent rebellion of muscles and skin—
sadness etched so perfectly
it speaks louder than words.

And they say,
"You’re changing."
But how do you explain the ache
of building a world inside yourself?
A place where happiness tiptoes,
fragile and fleeting,
hidden beneath the shield you wear.

What they see is not the truth,
only the armor—
a mask forged from silence,
held together by the fear
of breaking it too soon.

And yet, there comes a moment,
when even the shield cracks.
When I turn to my inner voice,
that stubborn overseer,
and say:
"Mr. Consciousness, do your work.
Strip me bare. Let them see."

Because sometimes,
even the dumb silence of trying
is its own kind of strength. (Me helped by conci):