Enter

I find myself here—
looking back at the fog,
whose voice once hummed a sickly tune.
In a time when the storms,
greyed the skies…
in a time when noise was my symphony,
when the moon was nowhere to be found,
when the nights were never still,
and my blood ran cold
with each breath I took.

I find myself here—
no longer rejecting the shadows.
I come alive every morn—
in the days when the sun blesses me
with vision and light,
in the days when the clouds are all I see,
yet weigh on me not,
in the days when no one sees me,
or speaks to me…
when the rain pitter-patters on the roof,
reminding me
of the distance there was
and the distance there is—
like the fog that lingers…
it blurs not the path,
yet it is never gone.

Reflection Enter

When I wrote this poem, as a teaser for What The Silence Gave Me. The poem acts as a slow march into integration that comes with spiritual awakening and awareness that arises once we are at the edge of the life we used to know and the one that awaits us in full alignment.

The fog felt almost alive—a presence that followed me, shaping how I saw the world and my past. At first, it was heavy and confusing, blurring everything in its path—“whose voice once hummed a sickly tune”. It captured those moments when clarity felt impossible, when the weight of memory and uncertainty was hard to shake.

But as I kept writing, the fog changed. It’s still there, lingering, but it doesn’t block the path anymore—“it blurs not the path, yet it is never gone”. For me, that shift reflects coming to terms with the past: the shadows remain, but they don’t control how I move forward. The fog is both a reminder of where I’ve been and a lens through which I see the present more clearly.

This poem is about living with that tension, embracing both shadow and light, and noticing how even when the fog lingers, it teaches you to see more deeply.

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