The hourglass of life

I said goodbye to the past: empty, worn-out and done,
And it seems that life is no longer there.
The words flow like sand in the hourglass, one by one,
And won’t let me linger, won’t grant me a pause to spare.

But where the last grain of sand has finally fallen low,
Where the glass of the clock grew so clear and so frail,
I stand at the threshold, not through the door, not through the window, no,
But in that quiet hush that sings like a subtle tale.

Empty doesn’t mean dead. Burnt-out doesn’t mean cold.
The sand that has slipped away hasn’t truly been lost or sold
It simply has settled, found its place at the bottom’s hold,
And there, in that stillness, a new beginning unfolds.

I said goodbye and my hands grew free at last,
I let it go and my shoulders rose, unbound at last.
What seemed like an ending was just a pause, made to last,
A pause between “was” and “will be” — the bridge we must cross at last.

And if the words still flow like sand, grain by grain,
It means there’s still something inside left to say.
It means the clock hasn’t stopped, it’s waiting in vain
For me to begin living again, day by day.

september, 2026