The Brittle Thread

It is a quiet blade that carves the way,
Not always forged in fire or iron’s roar,
But in the hushed ‘enough’ we learn to say
When shadows lengthen by the garden door.
We seek a peace that wears a heavy crown,
A stillness bought with scars we cannot hide,
Yet as we lay our rusted armour down,
A deeper battle wakes—the one inside.

How fragile is this glass we call the soul,
When every heart beats to a different drum?
We strive to weave a tapestry, a whole,
From threads of discord where the voices come.
For man is made of wild and divergent tides,
A map of shires, of deserts, and of snow;
Within each breast a different ghost abides,
With ancient seeds that only they can sow.

alt
^{Living by design}

You, traveller of a distant, sun-drenched shore,
And you, who walk through mists of northern grey,
Observe the ‘Other’—not a closed, dark door,
But a sacred house where different children play.
Their songs are not your own, their prayers are strange,
Their history carved in stones you’ve never pressed,
Yet in this vast and intricate exchange,
Our very difference is our truest test.

To hold the peace is not to dim the light
Of cultures clashing in a vibrant fray,
But to respect the stranger’s sovereign right
To see the world in their own splintered way.
For if we crush the flower to keep the field,
We’ve lost the garden that we sought to save;
Let tolerance be the only sword we wield,
Before we share the silence of the grave.

The world is wide, the human heart is deep,
A choir of shadows, bright and unconfined.
Let us wake from the long and bitter sleep,
To find the grace that binds all humankind.
The peace we seek is not a tethered thing,
But a wild bird that needs the open air;
Respect the song that every soul must sing,
And find the home that we were meant to share.

I would like to invite my poet friend @silher to read his contribution, if time allows. Also thanks to @moeknows for visiting my post.