POEM | MAGIC | REFLECTIONS

Ancient Am I

From root to crown I rise

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Down to my roots, I am of another kind, As green as leaves that greet the newborn spring; My soul, a bird, abandons earth behind, On fearless wings it learns the sky to sing.

It is the wind that haunts the moonless night Through painted boughs where secret shadows lie; Across the snow it races, swift and bright, To greet the crimson dawning of the sky.

From Time’s depths I came, and I am really old Than memory itself could ever secrets tell. Within my skirts the slender ice grows cold, Then melts beneath a silent, ancient spell.

Where’er I tread, as though by Heaven’s grace, A field of golden sunflowers appears; The summer sun embraces every face, And crowns the day with light instead of tears.

The blossoms pay love’s debt a hundredfold, Returning every ray they once received; Their fragrant breath, within each petal rolled, Speaks softly of the hope they have believed.

From root to crown I rise, unconquered still; The world entwines itself within my hair. Beside the tree I linger, calm and still, And share with it one breath of timeless air.

Then once again I follow unseen ways; Behind my feet, a newborn spring is sown — A living fountain wakes beneath my gaze, Its crystal waters, singing of their own.

Then on I go. Behind my footsteps, I find The endless pulse that beats quietly through my blood Ancient am I, with Time forever twined, And in my cupped hands, I cradle only love.

Mariana Busarova, June 2026. All rights reserved.