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https://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/b0958d91ab090ff018a357b349db2629.mp3
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There’s a man on the rooftop every night
with a chair and a quiet cup of tea.
He looks at the moon like an old friend
who remembers who he used to be.
The city below keeps shouting loud,
cars like rivers made of light,
but up there the world grows slow and small
in the silver breath of night.
He tells the moon about ordinary days
how the morning smelled like rain,
how a stranger smiled at the crosswalk
and made the long road feel less plain.
The moon says nothing, never speaks,
just listens with a patient glow,
like a mirror made of distant dust
reflecting things we barely know.
Somewhere between silence and sky
the heart remembers how to roam.
Not every story needs an answer,
not every traveler needs a home.
Sometimes the night is just a doorway
where quiet thoughts are free to run
and the moon becomes a lighthouse
for the dreams of everyone.
The man grows older with the seasons,
winter settling in his hair,
but the moon still climbs the same old ladder
through the cold and empty air.
And when the night feels wide and endless
like a question left alone,
he lifts his eyes and softly whispers,
“I’m glad you’re still there, old moon.”
Maybe we are all just voices
floating through a deeper sea,
waiting for the silent heavens
to hear our small humanity.
Somewhere between silence and sky
the heart remembers how to roam.
Even the loneliest of travelers
can find a light to call their own.
So if you ever feel forgotten
in the noise of what we do,
look above the restless city
the moon is listening to you.