#Words_of_the_Poet
How painful it is
That in the end, our entire being,
What we planted in hearts and flowed into minds,
Fades away, like the footprints
Of a passerby on the cold snow of oblivion.
It seems that all the lived moments,
All the heartbeats that throbbed with love and hope,
Were merely fleeting marks
On the cold whiteness of time;
Marks that vanish
With the cruel gust of a wind.
How can one accept
That our memories,
Our laughter and tears,
The stories we wrote for ourselves and others,
All culminate in such a silent ending?
How can one believe
That one day this snow
Will cover our footprints,
And no one
Will even utter our name again?
To be forgotten,
Is the bitter and merciless share
That life gifts us.
A share that, with wounds made of indifference,
Tears apart our loves and dreams.
It seems that all the passion and excitement,
All the defeats and victories,
Were merely whispers
Lost in the noise of the world.
And how heartbreaking is this thought,
That no one looks back
To find our footprints,
To find a trace of an existence
In which we tried in every moment
To create something,
To leave something behind.
It’s as though we never existed,
As though we never desired or lived.
We are alive, but for what?
For the cold snow of oblivion
To one day cover all the signs of our being?
For our story
To remain unheard?
Or is it so that
In this vast indifference,
Only a handful of regrets
Remain in our hearts?
Regrets that,
Like an extinguished lamp,
Burn in the darkness of life,
Reminding us
Of how we lived,
But were lost in oblivion.
And this is the tale of humanity:
The pursuit of immortality
In a world
That accepts no one
As eternal.
Author:
احمد محمود امپراطور Ahmad Mahmood Imperator
Winter of 1403 Solar Hijri (2025)
