For Once

For once tell me how does it feel like

To be the sun, not the warmth

The spring, not the autumn

The raindrops, not the paper boat

The color, not the pallet

The breeze, not the Strom

For once tell me how does it feel like

To be the poem, not the poet.

For once tell me how does it feel like

To be the dream, not the sleeper

The flame, not the spark

The ocean, not the shore.

The heartbeat, not the silence after

For once tell me how does it feel like

To be the love, not the lover

The story, not the ink

For once tell me how does it feel like

To be the light, not the reflection

The song, not the echo that follows

The truth, not the words that hide it.

The forever, not the fleeting moment

For once tell me how does it feel like

To simply be — not be chased, not be named —

Just be, and still be everything.

For once tell me how does it feel like

To be the calm, not the chaos it tames

The spark in the eyes, not the tear that falls

The sunrise, not the night waiting to fade.

The reason, not the question

For once tell me how does it feel like

To exist without needing to be understood —

To be felt, not defined.