Pooem: Before Rebirth

The last days arrive without announcement—
no trumpet, no sudden dark—
just a quiet thinning of the air,
as if the world itself exhales and forgets to breathe back in.

Time softens. Edges blur.
Clocks tick, but mean less with every passing hour.
You begin to notice endings everywhere—
in the way light leaves a room,
in the way names feel heavier on your tongue.

There is a shedding.
Not violent, not loud—
but certain.
Old selves loosen their grip,
falling like leaves that no longer argue with gravity.

You walk through memories like abandoned houses,
touching walls that once held your laughter,
finding echoes instead of answers.
Even pain grows distant here,
as if it, too, knows it cannot follow.

In these final days,
you are both less and more—
emptied of what you carried,
filled with something unnamed, waiting.

And in the quietest moment,
just before everything gives way,
there is no fear left—
only a strange, steady stillness

like the earth
right before it breaks open
and something new
begins to breathe.