ganhus (auuc)

Under desert moons, jackals sung to nothing—and everything Their voices rose like unanswered poems Even loneliness howls

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I used to think I needed answers to feel at peace. But today, watching a single bird lift into the air without hesitation, I realized I only need permission—to move, to pause, to not know. Nature never waits for certainty, and maybe I don’t need to either.

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In shadowed caves, cave crickets drummed ancient code Their rhythm too old for us to learn But I tapped my foot anyway

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Mist braided the river in threads of pale silver, wrapping the valley in a hush too deep for words. I breathed slowly, as if exhaling would tear the fabric of that fragile silence. Some holiness hides in places untouched by sound—chapels carved not in stone, but in stillness.

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