Eduard

Eduard Aug 23

In this final verse, before the ink runs dry,
A silent pact to simply say goodbye.
The chisel rests, the canvas turns to dust,
A whispered promise broken, turned to rust.

For love's a fire that needs a constant spark,
And mine has dwindled, leaving only dark.
The dancer's feet, once light, now heavy lead,
A silent song, a book I've left unread.

The poet's pen, a stranger to my hand,
A foreign country in a broken land.
The melody, a ghost I can't recall,
A final stand before I choose to fall.

So let the world forget the things I've done,
The battles lost, the victories unwon.
I'll slip away, a ghost in shadowed halls,
Erase myself before the last curtain falls.

Last piece before i vanish from the narrative.

Eduard Jul 28

the quiet path

To truly listen is to unlatch the door of the mind, letting words drift in like dust motes in sunbeams, no need to catch or rephrase. To observe others is to glimpse their unique constellations, without the harsh light of comparison dimming your own. And to live truthfully is to shed the many-layered costumes, standing bare in the honest air of simply being.

Perhaps the quest is not to banish fear, to sweep it from the heart's quiet corners. But rather, to share the space with it. To know its shadow lingers, yet feel, with unwavering certainty, that its hand no longer guides the tiller of your ship, nor dictates the unfolding of your days.

Jul 14

Rumi

This World Which Is Made of Our Love for Emptiness

Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
This place made from our love for that emptiness!

Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.

Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.

Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.

Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.

The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.

These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:
Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:

Words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.

Jul 14

Rumi

Do You Love Me?

A lover asked his beloved,
Do you love yourself more
than you love me?

The beloved replied,
I have died to myself
and I live for you.

I’ve disappeared from myself
and my attributes.
I am present only for you.

I have forgotten all my learning,
but from knowing you
I have become a scholar.

I have lost all my strength,
but from your power
I am able.

If I love myself
I love you.
If I love you
I love myself.

Eduard Jul 11

Thorns and Open doors

I know how tough I am to love. Seriously, I've been wrestling with that truth myself, looking in the mirror and feeling like I don't even know the person staring back.

There are still parts of me that are just… thorny. Sharp, unyielding, like a wild bush no one can really hug without getting pricked. Sometimes they're like rough stones, ready to tumble out and leave a bruise where a gentle touch should be.

I'm dealing with my own stuff, a heavy cloak I wear, and when I let you in, I accidentally draped a piece of it over your shoulders. It's a weight you never asked for.

I knew the risks, you know? The jagged edge of loving me, the cliff of letting you see me for who I really am. But still, I unlatched the door. Threw it wide open.

Sometimes, I wonder if that was incredibly selfish of me. To lay bare all my messy damage and still, somehow, deep down, hope you'd stay. To let you see the wreckage and then ask you to accept it, to carry a burden that's really only mine.

So, yeah, I get it. If one day, that quiet hum of you being here turns into the louder sound of you leaving, if you just admit, with a sigh, that you can't handle me anymore—I won't be mad. Not at all.

Because I love you enough to want you to have a love that's easy, that breathes freely, light and happy, without all my shadows. And I love you enough to let you go if my arms ever feel more like a cage than a home to you.

Eduard Jul 7

ewan

I can't look you in the eye. I just can't. I'm such a coward. Every time I try, my gaze just falls away, searches for anything but you. It's too much, letting you see what's really in there—the mess, the fear, the raw shame.

God, I miss you so much it hurts, but the shame of what I did just paralyzes me. I wronged you, and this... this has to be my punishment.

Eduard Jul 5

When love remains.

A phantom touch that stirs within my heart.
The empty space beside me, through the long night, A constant echo, holding you ever so tight.

What is grief, if not love persevering?
It's the very essence of all that's worth endearing.

A silent promise, breathed into the air,
A love that lingers, showing how deeply I still care.

For in the depths of sorrow's vast, dark sea,
Our love's bright flame still burns eternally.

It molds the pain, transforms each lonely sigh,
A bond unbroken, beneath our boundless sky.

My Dearest ...