Dream on an Abacus

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The quiet rhythm of our hands,
Life dances on an ancient strand.
Rows of moments, grains of plans,
Beads of hope, of sorrow, of grace,
Each one finding its rightful place.

We slide and pause, we push and pull,
Each small move makes the spirit mull.
We add our joys, subtract our fears,
Recounting dreams across the years.
We push ahead for dreams we seek,
Pull back for lessons, strong or meek.

Some beads may fall-loss counts the same,
Some softly glow-our gains we claim.
A wrong move shifts the sum astray,
Yet careful hands can find the way.
We learn again, we start once more,
Recover sums we lost before.

Time clicks gently, bead by bead,
Counting loss and hope and need.
Time whispers low, counting stars,
Measuring joys and hidden scars.
Not all the sums are clear or fair,
Yet wisdom grows with patient care.

No perfect sum, no final line,
Just moments woven-yours and mine.
So let us move with gentle grace,
Embrace the beads we choose to chase.
For in this dance, through loss and gain,
We balance joy, we count the pain.

In the quiet of the beads’ soft fall,
We learn that life is best with all-
The hopes we hold, the scars we wear,
A balance found in love and care.

"In silent hands, life moves on ancient beads slow here.
We add our joys, subtract the weight of fears we bear.
Dreams multiply small hopes to towering sums high.
Imagination divides our pain to parts soft.
We lose some beads, yet learn to count again slowly.
Wrong moves can shift the sums, but hands return to balance.
Time clicks and counts both profit, loss, and scars we keep.
No final total-living is the math we do."

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