Before The Last Light Blaze

Before The Last Light Blaze

In that blue-lit gaze, a quiet verdict glows
not thunder, not flame,
but a sorrow older than stars.

He looks at you
as if holding the memory
of what you were meant to be,
and what you chose instead.

O children of Earth,
you learned to build towers of fire,
but forgot how to build a hand that heals.
You conquered the sky,
yet lost the simple courage
to love one another without fear.

The oceans have tasted your grief,
the winds have carried your anger,
and still
this wounded planet turns,
whispering your names like a prayer
it refuses to abandon.

Can you hear it?

Beneath the noise of your triumphs,
beneath the ashes of your pride,
there is a softer call
a trembling, sacred echo:

“Be human… again.”

Not in power,
not in pride
but in kindness that asks for nothing,
in tears you do not hide,
in the quiet act of lifting another soul
when it can no longer rise.

The final countdown is not an ending
it is a mirror.

And in that fleeting moment,
as time leans close to listen,
you still have a choice:

To leave this world as conquerors of dust
or remain,
as keepers of light.

Prodyot / 27 March 26