The Warmth Behind the Strain

Описание: I walked a road without a sign,
The letters curved like weathered vine.
I asked for tea, and looked for more.

A child sang near a moss-stone gate,
A tune that felt like ancient fate.
A song I’d nearly heard before.

I hummed along, unsure, unheard –
Their world was bright, but I was blurred.
Just outside the open door.

But the wind still knew my name,
And the sea still touched my face.
Though my tongue fell out of frame,
My heart still found its place.
I didn’t know the words they shared –
But somehow still, I felt prepared.

In a pub where the fire held court,
They told old tales too rich to sort.
I laughed when they laughed, though lost in thought.

I raised my glass, then said no word –
Just nodded gently, stirred but blurred.
For still, I didn’t know the words.

But the fiddle knew my sigh,
And the flute sang soft and low.
Though I couldn’t tell you why,
The tune still seemed to know.
I didn’t catch each word or phrase –
But felt them hum beneath the haze.

Bhí bean i gcúinne ag canadh mall,
A guth mar ghaoth ó shliabh is ball.
Dúirt sí, “Is túisce a thiteann an fómhar.”

(A woman in the corner sang low,
Her voice like wind from hill and hollow.
She said, “Autumn falls the sooner,”
And left a stillness in my soul.)

A woman sang in the shadowed hour,
Her voice like wind through roof and tower.
She said it soft, like truth grown sour.

Not all that’s sacred needs a name,
And not all silence feels like shame.

So let them speak in tones they choose,
In vowels soft as drifting rain.
I’ll listen close and never lose,
The warmth behind the strain.
For love moves through the silent thirds –
A symphony without the words.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1chEQ...