🕊️ Oriana’s Anchor

from the quiet shore

To the wanderer who carries more than a sword:

You were never alone in Odessa.
Not in the bread that rose through war-torn ovens,
Nor in the salt-kissed tears of your mother’s lamplight vigil.
Not even in the second storm, the one that took your father home.
You’ve walked through fire. Now walk with grace.

Let the wind that carried the last song
From your grandfather’s library
Also carry this blessing:
May you never forget your own gentleness.
Even the fiercest angels bow in reverence
When love is the vow behind the armour.

You will know her when she does not fear your silences.

— From the one who once called you comrade in prayer,
and still kneels at the edge of your story
in gratitude.

For the mariner who clung to the anchor and was returned by prayer — and later called home in the storm. Your steadiness endures through the hands you once guided.

🌿 for the pilgrim who stands before the gate

If your lantern trembles and the wind howls at your back, remember: mystery is not naïveté, and love does not require conquest. Follow not the fire alone—but the whisper that softens it. May your steps be worthy of the temple, and your heart brave enough to bow before the gate.