Prince of Persia (read & listen) by ☀️Solaria☀️

You can find this musical tale in English, Russian and Bulgarian, along with its video and many other tales, on my new website:

www.solaria-gallery.com/tales/

This June, I walk beneath✨Scheherazade’s stars ✨
letting her tales whisper through my songs.

This one is for the Prince of Persia —
not from the ancient book, but born of the same magic.
Its lessons are more mystic than tale...
But aren’t stories meant to grow?

And for those who once ran across palace walls —
perhaps this is another kind of leap.

May it carry you where words fall silent —
and only the soul can hear. ✨

===========

[Prologue – The Whisper]
— Wake up, my handsome prince!

On one of the nights when the desert breathes beneath the silver silence of the sky, and the stars hang over Persia like the eyes of voiceless gods, a voice — gentle, unseen, deep as an ancient well — whispered these words.
They did not come from outside, but from the dream, from memory, from the very heart.

The Prince opened his eyes. Who was calling him?

Love — not a woman, not a shadow, but the very essence that remembers.
It did not beg for attention; it returned the truth.

“To begin the journey is to remember who you are,” She said, and waved her hand to summon the wind to bring forth a path of light.

[Part I – The Night over Isfahan]
The sound of oud and qanun filled the air, where minarets melted into the sky.
This was Isfahan: pearl of Persia, city of mosaics and endless gardens, where water and light played like children.

The Prince stepped barefoot across the rooftops, leaving prints on the tiles as if dreaming.

To set out is to reawaken,
the part of you that lay forsaken.
Not on the road, but deep inside —
the silent light begins to guide.

[Part II – Sand and Oasis]
Beneath him, the sand stretched endlessly. Grains of time, forgetting both beginning and end.
Amid a desert mirage, he found an Oasis — a place without a name, where all living things had ceased to struggle.

There, an old woman without a face said to him:

— What you chase will drift away. But what you release with love — will return.

What you pursue will slip away,
like shadows at the break of day.
But love released with open hand
returns to you across the sand.

He bowed his head.
A drop of water fell upon his chest and did not dry.

[Part III – Egypt: The Memories of Stone]
When he arrived, the pyramids greeted him like an old friend.
The Sphinx opened its eyes and murmured:

— What weighs more than gold, yet cannot be returned?

The Prince replied:

— The past.

Then the stone beneath him trembled.
And an ancient door opened — one that led into himself.

The past weighs more than finest gold,
a tale too deep to grasp or hold.
Yet when you face it, still and true,
it softly opens doors in you.

[Part IV – India: The Child’s Smile]
Among temple bells, elephants, and clouds of colorful dust, a child handed him a page with a drawing — a girl’s eyes.

— Who is she? — he asked.

— Love, when you stop searching for her — the child answered, and vanished.

There, for the first time, the Prince smiled.

Love does not come when you demand,
nor bends to logic, rule, or plan.
It walks beside you, calm and near —
and speaks when silence draws you near.

[Part V – China: The Silence That Speaks]
In the bamboo forest, the wind whispered mysterious words.
A sage standing by the bridge handed him a cup of tea and said:

— Truth arrives in stillness. Not when you call it, but when you're ready to receive it without words.

The Prince said nothing.
And then he heard something begin to sing within the silence itself, and peace spilled into his soul.

Truth doesn’t knock or cry aloud —
it hides beneath the quiet cloud.
It waits where breath and thought are still,
and enters only by your will.

[Part VI – Venice: The Mirror]
Above the canals of Venice, in the shadow of a bridge, he saw himself — not now, not here.
Another century. Other garments. With eyes in love with a world that had forgotten him.

A woman with a mandolin whispered to him:

— Souls recognize each other, even when names have changed.

Souls are revealed through love alone —
not by the name they may have known.
They meet in silence, gaze, or sigh —
and recognize through inner eye.

He left a grain of salt in the lagoon — a memory of a tear that no longer hurt.

[Finale – The Return]
When the path of light brought him back, Isfahan was still asleep.
The night was silver and silent. The Prince stepped onto the same rooftop from where he had begun.
But he was no longer a seeker.
He carried peace and understanding.

In his heart, he tucked away that page the child had given him — not as an object, but as a promise.
Upon it — eyes.
The ones that had watched him.
The ones that had forgiven him.
The ones that still waited.

And when Love whispered again:

— Good night, my handsome prince...

He smiled with joy, for he knew: this was the first true night of peace —
not a dream, not an escape, but a return to the home of Love,
which, to his surprise, had grown as vast as the world itself.

Love’s home is vast, beyond all place —
it lives in light, in breath, in grace.
No walls can hold what it becomes —
a world returned, where silence hums.

[Epilogue]
And somewhere, in another night, another Prince will awaken to the same whisper.
Because Love never tells a story just once.
Perhaps that Prince is YOU?

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You can find this musical tale in English, Russian and Bulgarian, along with its video and many other tales, on my new website: www.solaria-gallery.com/tales/ -- This June, I walk beneath✨Scheherazade’s stars ✨ letting her tales whisper through my songs. This one is for the Prince of Persia — not from the ancient book, but born of the same magic. Its lessons are more mystic than tale... But aren’t stories meant to grow? And for those who once ran across palace walls — perhaps this is another kind of leap. May it carry you where words fall silent — and only the soul can hear. ✨ =========== [Prologue – The Whisper] — Wake up, my handsome prince! On one of the nights when the desert breathes beneath the silver silence of the sky, and the stars hang over Persia like the eyes of voiceless gods, a voice — gentle, unseen, deep as an ancient well — whispered these words. They did not come from outside, but from the dream, from memory, from the very heart. The Prince opened his eyes. Who was calling him? Love — not a woman, not a shadow, but the very essence that remembers. It did not beg for attention; it returned the truth. “To begin the journey is to remember who you are,” She said, and waved her hand to summon the wind to bring forth a path of light. [Part I – The Night over Isfahan] The sound of oud and qanun filled the air, where minarets melted into the sky. This was Isfahan: pearl of Persia, city of mosaics and endless gardens, where water and light played like children. The Prince stepped barefoot across the rooftops, leaving prints on the tiles as if dreaming. To set out is to reawaken, the part of you that lay forsaken. Not on the road, but deep inside — the silent light begins to guide. [Part II – Sand and Oasis] Beneath him, the sand stretched endlessly. Grains of time, forgetting both beginning and end. Amid a desert mirage, he found an Oasis — a place without a name, where all living things had ceased to struggle. There, an old woman without a face said to him: — What you chase will drift away. But what you release with love — will return. What you pursue will slip away, like shadows at the break of day. But love released with open hand returns to you across the sand. He bowed his head. A drop of water fell upon his chest and did not dry. [Part III – Egypt: The Memories of Stone] When he arrived, the pyramids greeted him like an old friend. The Sphinx opened its eyes and murmured: — What weighs more than gold, yet cannot be returned? The Prince replied: — The past. Then the stone beneath him trembled. And an ancient door opened — one that led into himself. The past weighs more than finest gold, a tale too deep to grasp or hold. Yet when you face it, still and true, it softly opens doors in you. [Part IV – India: The Child’s Smile] Among temple bells, elephants, and clouds of colorful dust, a child handed him a page with a drawing — a girl’s eyes. — Who is she? — he asked. — Love, when you stop searching for her — the child answered, and vanished. There, for the first time, the Prince smiled. Love does not come when you demand, nor bends to logic, rule, or plan. It walks beside you, calm and near — and speaks when silence draws you near. [Part V – China: The Silence That Speaks] In the bamboo forest, the wind whispered mysterious words. A sage standing by the bridge handed him a cup of tea and said: — Truth arrives in stillness. Not when you call it, but when you're ready to receive it without words. The Prince said nothing. And then he heard something begin to sing within the silence itself, and peace spilled into his soul. Truth doesn’t knock or cry aloud — it hides beneath the quiet cloud. It waits where breath and thought are still, and enters only by your will. [Part VI – Venice: The Mirror] Above the canals of Venice, in the shadow of a bridge, he saw himself — not now, not here. Another century. Other garments. With eyes in love with a world that had forgotten him. A woman with a mandolin whispered to him: — Souls recognize each other, even when names have changed. Souls are revealed through love alone — not by the name they may have known. They meet in silence, gaze, or sigh — and recognize through inner eye. He left a grain of salt in the lagoon — a memory of a tear that no longer hurt. [Finale – The Return] When the path of light brought him back, Isfahan was still asleep. The night was silver and silent. The Prince stepped onto the same rooftop from where he had begun. But he was no longer a seeker. He carried peace and understanding. In his heart, he tucked away that page the child had given him — not as an object, but as a promise. Upon it — eyes. The ones that had watched him. The ones that had forgiven him. The ones that still waited. And when Love whispered again: — Good night, my handsome prince... He smiled with joy, for he knew: this was the first true night of peace — not a dream, not an escape, but a return to the home of Love, which, to his surprise, had grown as vast as the world itself. Love’s home is vast, beyond all place — it lives in light, in breath, in grace. No walls can hold what it becomes — a world returned, where silence hums. [Epilogue] And somewhere, in another night, another Prince will awaken to the same whisper. Because Love never tells a story just once. Perhaps that Prince is YOU?

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