

Wanderer’s Ode
Between the ages of 15 and 17, and again between 37 and 39, and once more between 46 and 50, I roamed as a lone wolf.
Between the ages of 18 and 27, and again between 35 and 47 (perhaps), I lived with the confidence of a circle and paid my dues to the club of twin souls.
Between the ages of 30 and 32, and again between 45 and 47, and possibly between 51 and 53, I found my calling as a path builder— not a dream builder, but a creator of roads, paving ways for future steps.
Then there were the years between 27 and forever, where I tended.
And in the breaths between, I've traveled, I’ve walked the tightrope of time, balancing hopes, casting off regrets, and shedding doubts.

In the Quiet Moments
If morning is a promise of light,
if they are right,
I should be quite well-positioned, no fight.
​
I have my coffee in the cup,
something jazz, and maybe something to write.
A black cat curls by me, searching for the might.
In this hour, all feels right.
The fireplace, a cozy glow,
pages turn softly, words start to flow.
I water the flowers, tranquility begins to grow.
The time is quiet, the heart feels bright
In this moment, I listen to the light.
​
I've taken my vitamins, but I havent's said my prayers.
​​
Sanda Berar, "The Jazz of Life"
Unbidden Paths
I was not looking for a new way,
I was not expecting a brighter day.
​
I was not hoping for a shift in path,
I was not counting on a second act.
I was not yearning for a different view,
I was not waiting for a world anew.
I was not dreaming of paths untread,
I was not counting on words unsaid.
I was not yearning for a new song,
I was not seeking, but here I belong.
I was not looking, and yet I see,
I was not expecting, but now I am free
​
Sanda Berar, "Jazz of Life"

Rebuilding
Have you ever wondered what happens
when you break a spider's web?
Does the spider cry a little?
Or does she immediately file a complaint
with a spider association,
responsible for punishing humans accused
of such heinous acts?
Does anyone host her until she gathers
her strength and overcomes the emotional
devastation caused by the destruction of
her life's work (or a few days')?
Or is she secretly happy because she was
too trapped in her own web, and now
(maybe even with help
from the spider association)
she has the chance to practice
her craft and build an even bigger and
more beautiful web?
​I wonder.
​
Sanda Berar, "The Jazz of Life"
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