A unique voice in the starry night (false narratives of the “phenomenon of life”)
Author: D’Bara Arruda

Dearest me:
Each stanza of Cronus is a stage of consciousness maturing before the vastness of existence.
– If you ripen, allow yourself to shine.

The sky is the limit for small dreams,
just as the bottom is the boundary for those who dive headfirst.
But if you dig a little deeper, the result is more or less the same —
the bottom mirrors the sky when you dig with your eyes.

Because, if your wings don’t hold you up to fly,
build a rocket fueled by perseverance and focus
and try to see beyond the atmosphere of tribulations.
You’ll discover there is a sun for each of us
in the cold vacuum of the universal dark.

But if it’s to live,
limit the falsehood of your self-criticism
with walls made of belief
in the minute that follows everyday acts.

When seeking redemption, keep in mind:
chance was already in your plans —
you just hadn’t told your “self” yet…
Could it be that our falls and flights
are measures of the same journey?
This might show you that past and future
are wings of the present,
always transforming.

And about space,
if there’s a little corner, I’ll settle —
a bed of astral flow,
a sidereal bridge to a tomorrow that tastes like today,
chewing time and spitting out the false feeling of eternity.

What you see
across that cosmic blackness,
dense:
are not stars,
but tears and sweat from my story.

Last Thought…
Have a unique voice, one that blends pain and hope
without easy romanticism,
in the starry night with swirling vortices,
where darkness doesn’t erase
but contrasts the light.

Final Reflection for foreign minds and deaf to the symphony of the immaterium:
The sum of all or nothing
in the battle between feeling and reason
is to not surrender to the surface,
to accept pain without becoming a martyr,
to evolve with it
and build “meaning”
in a universe that owes you no explanations,
but demands devotion
when it gives you, in riddles, knowledge.
Submissive worship for surrender,
with colloquial subjectivity,
while your curiosity is rein and whip.

Epilogue:
Your silence is a black hole
where words are swallowed
in the supernova of a thought.
But do not bleed your conscious,
nor commit heresy against your soul
by exposing the dry and abstract rivers
of human frailty.