I know that the years take away pride,
just as the river smoothes the stone in its bed.
They educate paths of sweet experience,
weaving a cloak of calm around the soul.
Desires, burning, make their presence felt,
like fire that embraces and like the palm tree.
Desires, lullabies of distant dreams,
weave the fabric of an eternal journey.
They are rhythmic echoes in human hearts,
divine whispers that illuminate winter.
The years are a canvas, colouring life,
painting memories, laughter and sorrows.
Each stain, a portrait, a lived story,
a dance of shadows, a song of veins.