There is a quiet corridor
where the seconds of planting seeds
of the tree of time
growing wild in the barren land.
You are free to choose:
to be a farmer of hope
to sow dreams in the fields of destiny
or just a pedestrian
to take shelter in the shadows
to wait for the rain
to erase the meaning.
On the inner horizon
the wind conveys the whispers of time.
Will you change its silence
into a song of hope
or let it disappear
in the valley of emptiness?
Look at the moon
the painter of the night
who records dreams
in its reluctant light.
Look at the sun
the eternal fire that cries out
inviting you to dance
on the stage of the universe.
On the limitless canvas
time is a color
waiting for meaning.
Do you dare to paint a masterpiece
leaving an eternal trace?
Or do you let it drift
like sand carried by waves
disappearing without a name?
Time knocks on your every beat
inviting you to write a story
that never fades.
Because time is yours
like the stars
that you arrange in the sky of your dreams.
