When the Wind Remembers My Name

I close my eyes,
and the earth hums beneath my skin
the song of rivers winding through bone,
the whisper of mountains resting in my chest.

The wind carries stories older than words,
it tangles gently in my hair,
telling me that I am still her child
born of soil, breath, and flame.

I hear the river’s slow heartbeat,
the rhythm my ancestors once walked to.
Their shadows drift with the water,
their prayers bloom between each ripple.

Mother Earth holds me
in her endless arms of dusk and dawn.
Even in silence,
I am home.

Art by Serin Alar