Different Flows

A different current hums
beneath your fragile skin—
it starts as a small sensation,
growing to a quiet pulsation
that never stops,
like rivers mapping new grounds,
leaving ancient roads in the past,
as a newborn child
relearning every curve of your body.

Another dances through the air,
catching you by surprise—
a rhythm born from a single spark
turns to a thunderstorm;
it coils in unsuspecting clouds,
then spills as heavy rain,
igniting old roots inside the dark.

They say some flows are slow,
like lunar tides
that pull the mind
toward unseen shores;
they are the ones that bend
darkness to light,
and light to darkness.

All streams converge, then fade, then bloom—
a circle repeated endlessly;
each breath, each thought, each living memory
comes around and fades to its own symmetry,
just like the wheel of time
that whispers names we’ve heard before.