Pulse

Pulse


Skirtima


Awakening


Morning Silence

The sun tears the night into thin strips;

Dust floats in the light coming in through the window.

On the table, a glass of water, cool, a touch of the moment.

My heart catches up with my breathing, unusual and slow.


My thoughts run silently between my fingers;

like whispers that dare not become words.

Every move is both a challenge and a promise;

The day unfolds like a thin thread of light and shadow.


I open the window;

The air still smells of fresh soil and grass.

A moment of balance, delicate and fragile;

the body remembers the joy that simplicity hides.


Every sound of the city waking up

beats with its own pulse inside me;

a coordinated turmoil that calls me to rise;

The silence before the first step burns softly.


Light of Light

The first lights pass between the curtains;

Shadows run on the walls, flashes of everyday life.

The soul rises, feels the weight and the freedom;

and in the space between two breaths something small is born.


In my hands I hold time like a bead;

Thin and fragile, it slowly rolls over my palms.

Every detail seems to be on fire;

a window, a light, a sound, everything invites me to exist.


My body remembers the movements I had forgotten;

walking, stretching, the feeling of fingers in cold water.

And suddenly, the whisper becomes a voice;

a promise to myself that the day can happen.


The city awakens around me, but inside me there is silence;

a sense of pure presence, sensitive and full;

the colors seem to embrace me without me knowing it;

and I breathe in a way that has never happened before.


Morning Dew

The dew of dawn touches my lips;

a whisper reminiscent of water before the first breath.

The trees move gently in the wind;

And I observe people waking up without haste.


Every flash of light becomes a thought;

and every thought, a small act of resistance.

I stand still, listening to myself;

My body is filled with the feeling of beginning.


The light changes quickly, the shadows distort;

The day becomes fluid, like water flowing silently.

In the background, the voices of others seem far away;

and I find space for my little quirk.


The heart feels the tension of existence;

the present becomes a palette of colors and sensations;

and every moment seems to last an eternity;

as if I were learning to live again for the first time.