We laugh like rivers breaking through the stone,
And cry when silence cuts us to the bone.
Our hearts are clocks with hands that never rest,
Each beat a whisper—joy or deep unrest.
We hope like flowers reaching toward the light,
Yet fear the dark that swallows us at night.
In moments small, our greatest truths are shown,
A glance, a sigh, a pause when we’re alone.
We build with dreams and shatter them with doubt,
Then mend the cracks the world has carved throughout.
Our faces change, but underneath remains
A soul that dances even through the pains.
To live is not to breathe alone, but feel—
Each scar, each smile, each moment that is real.
And in this storm of years, we still believe.