They said, "Draw your course, lay your plan," But no compass knew who I am. The trees don’t ask the breeze to stay, They bend, and call it their own way. Each step I take feels mine, and yet The trail was damp before it set. A thought arrives, so pure, so clear — But what I am was always near. I walk with a map of the wind, No lines, no paths, no where or when. Just currents pulling through my skin, And choices shaped before they begin. Still, I walk. Still, I sing. With a map of the wind. They taught me, “You’re the one who leads,” But even fire has secret seeds. And every voice I called my own Was grown in soil I’d never known. I am not lost, though none can steer. The silence speaks when I draw near. And though the sky won't name my name, I move as if I lit the flame. I walk with a map of the wind, No lines, no paths, no where or when. Just currents pulling through my skin, And choices shaped before they begin. Still, I walk. Still, I sing. With a map of the wind. I am not lost, though none can steer. The silence speaks when I draw near. And though the sky won't name my name, I move as if I lit the flame. We name the waves, we bless the rain, Though none obeys, we speak again. We trace the stars with trembling hands, Not to command—but to understand. And if no helm was ever mine, Still, I drew constellations in time. Still, I walked. Still, I sang. With a map of the wind.
