Sutra

In the plots of fate, sutra intertwined,
hands tied, in silence, cry for freedom.
The thread of time, in us, is woven,
and in the dance of chance, we are led.

Sutra of dreams, of shared hopes,
hands tied, but with winged wills.
Each point a desire, each bond a promise,
in the tapestry of life, every choice is a confession.

Between the sutra and the hands, a silent dialogue,
unspoken words, in every gesture, everything.
Hands that want to touch the starry sky,
but by the fate sutra, they are limited.

Sutra of love, which unites and separates,
hands tied, which passion declares.
In the intertwining of threads, a story told,
of two souls, for the same sutra, in love.

And so they continue, sutra and hands, in eternal dancing,
a tie that tightens, another that is loosening.
In the choreography of the universe, we are just a part,
hands tied by sutra, but free for heart and art.