Hands Held Through the Turning Year

Let us lift our hearts where the frost has lain,
And whisper to the hours that have passed,
For even the lonely have a lantern flame,
And even cold streets hold shadows cast.

Let us bend toward the small and the dear,
The cup of tea, the soft sound of rain,
The hand that reaches when sensing fear,
The quiet pulse beneath sorrow and pain.

In this new turning of clock and sky,
Let us treasure the hours that quietly lie,
The laugh that trembles, the unshed tear,
The memory that hums when no one is near.

Reach out where the silence has thickened deep,
Touch the weight of a voice in the night,
For each fleeting soul has a vigil to keep,
And a longing that yearns for morning light.

We are leaves in the wind, in the storm, in the sun,
Fragile, yet fierce in our simple becoming,
The year ahead a thread, a song to be sung,
A chance to mend, to hold, to be human, to run.

Pause for the self, for the quiet within,
The breath and the heartbeat, the unseen skin,
Let the mind wander through soft candlelight,
And find in the stillness new reason to fight.

Call a friend, a stranger, a neighbour, a lost child,
For connection is warmth, wild and untamed,
Even a smile through deep dark reconciled
Can spark fire, can light, what once remained.

Let us walk slowly, yet boldly, this year,
With hope in our pockets, our eyes wide and clear,
For every hand held, every word softly said,
Is a balm, is a bridge, is a feathered thread.

• Jay Rose Ana