Spirit of Stillness
In the quiet fold of the earth,
she stands—
not moving, yet moving the world.
The wind leans in to listen,
The grass bends as if in prayer.
Her gaze is a horizon,
endless and unbroken.
It holds the patience of stone,
and the tenderness of rain.
She does not chase the moment—
she becomes it,
letting silence bloom around her
like wildflowers after snow.
And in that stillness,
you feel it—
the pulse of a spirit
too vast to be held
and too gentle to break.
Serin Alar
Spirit of Stillness
In the quiet fold of the earth,
she stands—
not moving, yet moving the world.
The wind leans in to listen,
The grass bends as if in prayer.
Her gaze is a horizon,
endless and unbroken.
It holds the patience of stone,
and the tenderness of rain.
She does not chase the moment—
she becomes it,
letting silence bloom around her
like wildflowers after snow.
And in that stillness,
you feel it—
the pulse of a spirit
too vast to be held
and too gentle to break.
đš Serin Alar
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