What’s life?
not in my mirror,
but in others’ sight?
The rocky uphill mountain
is just a downhill slope to me.
Someone dies
already turned to ash,
not from lack of meaning,
but from distance of belonging.
I am merry with my people,
sharing the bliss they see,
bearing alone the storms I carry.
Around me, lives unfold endlessly
each with a weight I do not feel,
each grief I cannot borrow.
We pass as strangers,
running our own races,
unsure where we mean to arrive.
The world calls it a rat’s race,
yet like sand upon a shore,
every grain shines differently.
Many paths twist, diverge, collide,
all believing theirs is hardest,
all believing theirs is true.
In the end,
all paths quiet into the same silence.
So while we run,
let us see one another
for this moment is all we share.
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 1:46 PM UTC
What’s life?
not in my mirror,
but in others’ sight?
The rocky uphill mountain
is just a downhill slope to me.
Someone dies
already turned to ash,
not from lack of meaning,
but from distance of belonging.
I am merry with my people,
sharing the bliss they see,
bearing alone the storms I carry.
Around me, lives unfold endlessly
each with a weight I do not feel,
each grief I cannot borrow.
We pass as strangers,
running our own races,
unsure where we mean to arrive.
The world calls it a rat’s race,
yet like sand upon a shore,
every grain shines differently.
Many paths twist, diverge, collide,
all believing theirs is hardest,
all believing theirs is true.
In the end,
all paths quiet into the same silence.
So while we run,
let us see one another
for this moment is all we share.
