Born from my shadow, not from the radiant sun,
Are the notes I sing, my vibrant pulse.
From that old fear, which made me tremble,
Sprouts the seed of a new song.
Each phantom that dwells at my temple,
Each ancient shadow that tells me "no,"
becomes the ink, the ember, the ground,
for the blank canvas that has finally found its voice.
I do not hide the wound, nor quench the terror.
I look it in the eye, I invite it to my table.
It is the fire that forges the sculptor.
Transforms anguish into a vital promise.
Oh, profound night in which I was imprisoned!
Today you are the guide, the map, the boundary.
I transform the burden into steady flight,
And personal fear teaches me how to live.
Let the monster not be silent; let it be my engine.
Let the ancient doubt propel me to create.
Because in every crack a flower hides,
And my own shadow teaches me to dream.
©️ María Gallardo
Dec 12, 2025
Dec 12, 2025 at 4:20 AM UTC
Born from my shadow, not from the radiant sun,
Are the notes I sing, my vibrant pulse.
From that old fear, which made me tremble,
Sprouts the seed of a new song.
Each phantom that dwells at my temple,
Each ancient shadow that tells me "no,"
becomes the ink, the ember, the ground,
for the blank canvas that has finally found its voice.
I do not hide the wound, nor quench the terror.
I look it in the eye, I invite it to my table.
It is the fire that forges the sculptor.
Transforms anguish into a vital promise.
Oh, profound night in which I was imprisoned!
Today you are the guide, the map, the boundary.
I transform the burden into steady flight,
And personal fear teaches me how to live.
Let the monster not be silent; let it be my engine.
Let the ancient doubt propel me to create.
Because in every crack a flower hides,
And my own shadow teaches me to dream.
©️ María Gallardo
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