In a green valley that never withers,
where mountains lean into the clouds
and rain sings upon the windowpanes
its ancient song,
it whispers into your heart:
Here is where the soul belongs –
not merely a place to pass through.
Each morning,
the leaves are washed
in the dew of heaven,
trembling beneath the touch of rain,
as though nature itself
were renewing
its ancient covenant with life.
Deep in a forest
no human foot has ever known,
the clouds wander above the forest,
like a tender father
brushing the heads of his children,
Then, suddenly, they are gone –
hurrying away
with footsteps too quiet to hear,
as though they were ashamed
to wake a single soul.
Here,
time keeps another rhythm.
It flows
with the murmur of water
descending from the heights,
and whispers along the road:
Leave everything behind.
Give yourself to the water…
Here,
you will find
the homeland you lost.
Amid the clamor of the world,
among the crowds
and the endless crossing of paths,
seek out a narrow road,
and a house
whose window opens toward the mountains.
Where there is nothing
but trees,
and rain,
and a single heart
beating in the darkness-
as though it were
the final link
slipping loose
from the chain of noise.
