314th post

One night, in the solitude between sleep and wakefulness, her soul was seized by the longing to know. She asked the great masters of poetry and thought:

“What is life?”

Khayyam smiled and said: “A breeze between two nothings — drink before it passes.”

Ferdowsi cried out: “It is a battlefield — to defend the eternal land of honour, wisdom, and homeland.”

Rumi said: “It is the dance of creation — if the heart dares to tremble.”

Hafez whispered softly: “Life is a moment between wine and wakefulness, between sorrow and joy — a brief chance to blend the sweetness and bitterness of existence.”

Saadi said: “It is a school of patience and kindness — if you are a pupil of the heart.”

Shams said: “It is a fire — if you do not burn, you will not shine.”

Attar sighed: “A journey from the self to God, and an endless return.”

Nezami said: “It is a passing caravan — only those who walk the path of love and wisdom leave behind an eternal name.”

And she, among all these voices and melodies, understood that life is:

A short journey between the first breath of wonder and the last gaze of love.