Between the rush of pulse and fading echo,
There lives a quiet longing—
A place of reaching hands,
Of hearts stripped bare,
Where loneliness dissolves
In the warmth of shared memory.

What is the measure of a life,
But all the moments we lift each other
From sorrow to solace,
From despair to dawn?
In the hush between two beats,
Grief and hope twine together,
And we find ourselves
Belonging not to one nation,
But to a tapestry of souls,
Worn by time and healed by kindness.

Empathy sprouts where silence blooms—
Asking, if your pain were mine,
Would I not cradle it like a child,
Soft with gentle words?
Each day, fate divides and delivers,
Yet the soul—
It bends, it listens,
It aches for what is broken—
And answers with a gift,
Be it shelter, a smile, prayer,
Or the courage of standing near.

In the stillness between heartbeats,
Humanity breathes anew—
Not as echoes of loss or envy,
But as one vibrant pulse
That dares to believe:
Hearts, bound by invisible threads,
Can forge a living harmony
From the fragments of longing
And love.

.    .    .