Silente Abstrusa

It is not money,
nor fame,
nor power that builds walls of rubble
between one human being and another.

The purpose is to rebuild.

To rebuild what we broke,
what we forgot,
what we allowed to fall
because of fear, pride,
or the hunger to be right.

The purpose is unity:
to remember that we are one,
that beneath different names, faces, and paths
the same life is beating,
and that synchronicity expands
through surreal events,
unexpected encounters,
and miracles that arrive
when we have stopped looking for them.

We are magical bodies,
perfect in their mystery,
made of millions of tiny lights
that know how to repair themselves,
to be reborn,
to begin again.

And yet,
when do we stop to honor
the heart that never rests,
the lungs that give us breath,
the eyes that allow us to see,
the hands that embrace,
the feet that carry our steps?

When do we give thanks
to the liver that cleanses,
the kidneys that restore balance,
the skin that protects us,
to every silent cell
that works for us
without asking permission,
without demanding recognition,
without needing anyone’s approval?

What kind of society have we built
if we have learned to conquer the world
but forgotten how to inhabit
our own bodies?

Society…
or filth?

While we raise buildings,
we tear down bridges.
While we conquer territories,
we lose our inner peace.
While we search for life on other planets,
we destroy the life on this one.

And then the Earth trembles,
the ground erupts,
wars set borders ablaze,
and human beings keep asking
who is to blame.

Perhaps war also begins within.

Every challenge carries a mission.
Some battles do not come to destroy us,
but to transform us:

resentment,
guilt,
envy,
fear,
the hatred we feed in silence.

War is energetic
before it becomes visible.

That is why rebuilding the world
also means rebuilding ourselves.

Making peace with ourselves.
Making peace with those we can.
Releasing what no longer needs
to live inside us.

Before we die,
we should attempt something extraordinary:

to become the best version of ourselves.

Not the richest.
Not the most famous.
Not the most powerful.

The most human.

The one who knows how to apologize.
The one who knows how to forgive.
The one who reaches out a hand
when another is falling.
The one who shares bread,
knowledge,
time,
hope.

Because perhaps we did not come to this planet
to prove who is better.

We came to remember one another.

To understand that every human being
is a cell within the great body
of existence.

And a healthy cell
does not destroy the other cells:

it cooperates with them.

Then,
when heart stops competing with heart,
when hand stops fighting hand,
when we understand that no one is truly separate,

perhaps the real rebuilding
will begin.

Not after the war.

Before.

Not after the disaster.

Now.

Because rebuilding does not mean
raising again exactly what has fallen.

It means having the courage
to build something better.

A society where strength
does not mean domination,
but support.

Where power
does not mean imposing,
but serving.

Where wealth
is not measured by what we accumulate,
but by what we are willing to share.

And where every human being on this Earth
can look at another and say:

Your life matters too.
Your pain exists too.
Your body is sacred too.
Your heart is trying to survive too.

Perhaps that is our true purpose:

to rebuild ourselves,
to reconcile,
to help one another.

And before we leave this world,
to have left behind a little more light
than the light we found.

Because in the end,
we will not take the money,
nor the fame,
nor the power.

Only what we did
with the miracle of being alive
will remain.

⸻

SILENTE ABSTRUSA

Book: Far From My Land

This poem is part of Far From My Land, a work born from distance, memory, pain, and the hope of rebuilding.

To everyone who chooses to donate to help my family, I will give you a copy of the book as a gesture of gratitude.

Because in times when everything seems to be falling apart,
helping is also a way of rebuilding.

And perhaps a book cannot stop an earthquake,
put out a war,
or clear every piece of rubble.

But it can do something profoundly human:

remind us that we can still choose one another

By Silente Abstrusa