The Poet Who Chose to Become a Poem
He spent his life
collecting the whispers of the world —
the cry of rivers,
the silence of mountains,
the untold stories
resting inside ordinary hearts.
He searched for words
that could hold the weight of existence,
but one day he realised
words were too small
to contain the ocean within him.
So he stopped writing about the rain
and became a cloud;
stopped singing about love
and became the heartbeat;
stopped describing the wounds of time
and became a scar that remembered.
The poet buried his pen
beneath the soil of his own being
and allowed life itself
to write upon him.
His joys became verses,
his sorrows became metaphors,
his footsteps became lines
on the endless manuscript of earth.
People asked,
“Where are your poems?”
The wind replied,
“Look at him —
he no longer writes poems.
He has become one.”
And when the poet finally vanished,
the world did not lose a voice;
it gained a silence
that could be read forever.
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