Before We Had Names

Before we had names, before we knew the weight of the world, 

we stood beneath the same sky, eyes wide with wonder. 

The sky, stretched endless, painted in colors we had yet to name. 

 Stars flickered like whispers, ancient and all-knowing. 

Some of us grew near oceans, tracing the horizon like a promise. 

Some of us stood on mountaintops, breathing the thin air of wonder. 

Some of us lay in golden fields, grazing the wheat like magic. 

Some of us wandered, some stayed, but the sun rose and set just the same. 

Night fell, and for the first time, we saw each other 

in the glow of the same stars. 

In the absence of sun, our faces softened, 

no longer shadowed by the rush of the day. 

Each light above us a tiny ember, a quiet invitation to lift our gaze

to see, to recognize, to remember.

No longer strangers, we traced constellations like old stories,

realizing we had always been part of the same one.

The sky does not belong to any of us, yet it belongs to all. 

It does not ask for names, nor care for borders

it stretches open, vast and unclaimed. 

It bends over deserts and forests, over rooftops and rivers,

spilling its light without favor. 

It has watched over our ancestors, just as it watches over us now

patient, eternal, unbound. 

Though we walk different roads, look up

and know we have always shared the same sky.