A Map Without Borders
A POEM
I hold a map with no edges,
lines fading into mist,
the compass spins but never rests,
and the stars refuse to stay still.
I once thought I knew the way,
a path drawn in ink,
bold and unwavering,
but time, like rain, smudged the certainty,
turning my clear route
into a wandering scribble,
no landmarks, no names.
I chase horizons that keep retreating,
but maybe that’s the aim —
to walk without knowing the end,
to trust the step,
even when it lands in shadows.
Each dawn promises new colors,
soft skies opening with whispers:
“Here is a new dream,
yesterday’s is gone.”
And I follow, not knowing
if the dream was ever mine to begin with,
or if I’m just a traveler
borrowing visions from the wind.
But there’s beauty in this drift,
in the surrender to what cannot be planned…
