ayoamadu

It is the dawn that does not argue, yet paints the sky with fire.
It is the tear that falls without a sound, yet speaks of love unmeasured.
It is the hand that gives in secret, whose kindness leaves no echo.
It is the rose that blooms unseen, perfuming the air with no demand for applause.
Beauty’s loudest voice is silence,
not because it has nothing to say,
but because words are too small to carry it.
The silent voice of beauty is not emptiness.
It is fullness.
It is truth too vast to be spoken, a music only the soul can hear.