Follow your heart. Marina Eugenie di Cervini

riddle unfolds,

      Its flame eternal, yet undefined.

      Sanskrit whispers trace my veins,

      Carved in ink both fierce and tender.

      The calligraphy of a restless soul,

      Seeking truths it cannot surrender.

      Freedom’s chime echoes within,

      Yet its chains sing songs of years to come.

      The horizon tempts with its blazing lure,

      A rebel’s dream, where fears succumb.

      The madness of longing taunts my sleep,

      A panther prowling in moonlit dreams.

      It paces within the caverns of my heart,

      And I feel its strength in my silent screams.

      What keeps me tethered, what pulls me near?

      A vice, a love, a life I revere.

      It is the ache of wanting, the fire of faith,

      The relentless pull of an unseen fate.

      Perhaps it is madness—this hunger, this fire.

      Or perhaps it is power, unyielding desire.

      To grasp what lies beyond the veil,

      To touch the stars and carve my trail.

      Within me roars this ancient song,

      Its melody fierce, its rhythm strong.

      A vice, a virtue, a secret flame,

      Forever hidden, yet never tame.

      O secret, will you always hide?

      Or will you burst forth, unbound, untied?

      Within you lies my dream, my fight,

      The eternal struggle for life and light.

      WE HAVE EXHAUSTED OUR RESOURCES

      “In our race for more, we forget the balance that sustains us. This poem is a reflection on the paradox of our existence – a cycle of creation and destruction, of hope and despair.”

      We have plundered the earth,

      Chasing shadows across the sands.

      With empty hands, we climb the peaks,

      Dreaming of summits we do not understand.

      In temples, we bow to gods unseen,

      Yet honour idols wrought by man.

      Our prayers are whispered into the void,

      While greed and fear shape our plans.

      We slow the moon’s silent march,

      At the brink of the abyss, we pause.

      But only to grasp at fleeting treasures,

      Never to question their cause.

      Armoured by fear, we march through storms,

      Seeking solace in a fleeting sun.

      Our hearts, volcanoes of rebellion and sorrow,

      Erupt with dreams that cannot be undone.

      The rain falls, but does not cleanse,

      The rivers flow, but do not heal.

      We are both creators and destroyers,

      Bound by a wheel we cannot still.

      O humanity, what will remain?

      When the forests wither and the oceans drain?

      When the earth, exhausted, falls silent at last,

      And our dreams are relics of a forgotten past?

      THE DISTANT ROAD

      “The road ahead is a metaphor for all we seek and fear. It stretches endlessly, both a promise and a challenge – a reflection of our inner journey.”

      The road, the distant road,

      How it beckons with its endless lines.

      The wind whispers of places unknown,

      Of shadows cast by ancient signs.

      Lost in dreams, I tread this path,

      Each step a question, each shadow a doubt.

      The sea crashes, its waves dissolve,

      Leaving foam where hope runs out.

      I yearned for loss, for wisdom’s cost,

      But now, what remains of me?

      Perhaps only dust upon the breeze,

      A fleeting ghost of what could be.

      Where is the path, so pure, so bright,

      That destiny promised in the stars?

      Its horizon fades into the night,

      Yet I still follow its endless scars.

      The road, the distant road,

      Its echoes haunt my restless heart.

      The wind carries my soul away,

      Yet I am bound to its eternal start.

      In the road’s embrace, I find my truth —

      Not in its end, but in its length.

      For every shadow and every stone,

      Grants me wisdom, grants me strength.

      THE WHISPER OF LEAVES

      “There was a strange stillness that day, as if the world whispered secrets meant only for the brave to hear. I listened to the leaves, and they carried my fears away.”

      The whisper of leaves, fresh winds that cry —

      Have we strayed too far beneath this sky?

      Perhaps the shard’s edge has cut too deep,

      Or the heart’s soft murmur is bound to weep.

      A cup falls, shattering in shadowed halls,

      A mouse scurries through the silken walls.

      Summer has fled, its blossoms dry,

      Night’s harsh voice cloaks the garden’s sigh.

      Bread turns stale, preserved by mould;

      Life lingers on, though not all hold.

      A butterfly hides from the empty air,

      While water whispers, clouds declare.

      The wind moans low, the oak tree bends,

      Rumours grow heavy, no voice defends.

      Grief drowns grief in this solemn haze,

      Cold hands falter, the heart obeys.

      The phone rings sharply, a hollow tone,

      Echoing glances, a mossy stone.

      The tempter’s jest – a cruel disguise,

      In paper traps and clever lies.

      Coins bow heads; they make us kneel,

      Prayers