Is it not wondrous
that we ache for the same things?
That beneath a thousand distant stars,
we all long for warmth, for a voice
softly saying, “you are not alone”?

Across the world, beneath different skies,
hearts beat to the same quiet rhythm,
murmuring dreams that no language divides.
Hands reach not for flags, but for touch,
for the grace of another soul beside them,
a comfort that crosses every map.

In moments of laughter,
we are one breath held in joy—
and in sorrow, we are one silent tear,
a thread of shared longing
stretched from shore to shore.

Does it matter what tongue speaks love?
In the hush of morning, mothers lift children,
and fathers murmur promises
that drift on winds unseen.
The same hopes...