Let go of the altar of pain

Do not carve sorrow into stone,

do not kneel at the shrine of broken yesterdays.

The past is a weeping god, thirsty for your tears,

but you are not its worshipper,

you are the wind meant to wander.

Shatter the chalice of regret,

let its poison kiss the dust.

Unbind the ghost hands clutching your ribs,

for memories should be lanterns,

not shackles rusting in the marrow.

You were never made for mourning altars,

never meant to cradle wounds like relics.

Let the river of time cleanse your scars,

whisper your sorrow to the ocean’s ear,

watch it swallow grief without question.

See how dawn spills gold upon your skin,

how the trees undress without shame,

how the sky does not beg the stars to stay.

Even the moon lets go of its light,

trusting the sun will return.

So unlace your heart from yesterday’s grip,

step away from the temple of sorrow.

Do not build a home where only echoes live,

for the wind calls your name forward,

not back to the dust of the undone.

Let go, as autumn unbuttons its leaves,

as rivers surrender to the arms of the sea,

as the earth sheds its past in quiet revolutions.

Healing is not in holding,

but in the fearless art of release.

©Bunguswa™