Walking Toward the Moon
She walks on snow-soft earth,
wrapped in songs of ancestors,
her steps echo like prayers,
her silence heavy with longing.
The moon waits in stillness,
a guardian of hidden hearts,
Its light touches her spirit,
like a hand across generations.
She carries stories untold,
woven with rivers and winds,
dreams of comfort and kin,
rising with every breath.
“O moon, hear my soul,”
she whispers through the night,
“Be the one who listens,
when the earth grows quiet.”
Serin Alar
Walking Toward the Moon
She walks on snow-soft earth,
wrapped in songs of ancestors,
her steps echo like prayers,
her silence heavy with longing.
The moon waits in stillness,
a guardian of hidden hearts,
Its light touches her spirit,
like a hand across generations.
She carries stories untold,
woven with rivers and winds,
dreams of comfort and kin,
rising with every breath.
“O moon, hear my soul,”
she whispers through the night,
“Be the one who listens,
when the earth grows quiet.”
🎨 Serin Alar
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