๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐จ๐ฎโ๐ฌ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐
๐๐ข๐ ๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ก ๐๐ข๐ ๐๐
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(๐ด ๐๐๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐ก ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐, ๐คโ๐๐๐ ๐น๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ข ๐ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ก ๐ ๐ค๐๐๐-๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐กโ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ก๐๐๐โ๐ก. ๐ป๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐กโ โ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐๐๐ก ๐ค๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ โ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ฃ๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐๐๐๐.)
Excerpt:
*๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐จ๐ฎ*
Silence, the canvas upon which souls may paint
A canvas I stretch with threads of fragile sound
They call it “Silent Music,” Musica Callada
But in its quietude, a universe is found.
No air, no light, I confess, inhabit these tones
A mere heartbeat, frail, a flicker in the dark
Millimeters, that’s all the space it commands
Yet seeks to burrow deep, leaving its invisible mark.
(๐๐ ๐ฅ๐ก๐๐ฎ๐จ ๐ ๐๐๐จ๐๐ฉ๐๐ฃ๐ฉ, ๐ฆ๐ช๐๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐ค๐ง๐.)
Prayers whispered, petitions to the unseen
To Him who dwells in the vast, unyielding sky
A dialogue wordless, yet resonant and true
Where notes ascend like doves, then softly die.
St. John of the Cross, his words a guiding star,
“The Spiritual Canticle,” a landscape for the soul
“The tranquil night, the dawn’s gentle embrace,”
In the murmur of solitude, a love made whole.
(๐ฏ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ , ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐.)
(๐ป๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐.)
(๐ด๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ , ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐.)
(๐ฏ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐)
