In the quiet of endless, Between the silent sighs of stars, Lingers a bookshelf, an ancient dust, Telling tales of forgotten constellations.
The pages whisper secrets, Of nebulae dreams and cosmic wishes, The silence between them, a Echo from the souls suspended in stardust.
Listen and search within:
for cosmic narratives,
woven through silent breaths,
Of lightly etched lines.
Here, stories rest, In the humble embrace of timelessness, Books beheld not by eyes, But by the unheard heart of the universe.