To the left, the sound of distant echoing steel on concrete
the pigeon coo, grasping the key to your past.
Do not forget the second door on the right
where the whispers of forgotten languages linger.
Step cautiously through the doorway, beyond binds of reason,
let the map of misplaced dreams guide you. An island in dusk,
a forest of glass reflections, awaits your arrival.
First, orient yourself with the stars above
their positions calculate a journey untraveled.
Remember, the door hums a tune only you recognize,
much like the melody your grandmother hummed
as she knitted under a lamp's gentle embrace.
Beyond the door, shadows reveal truths otherwise hidden.
Navigate with care, for each misstep births a memory
misplaced in the corridors of time — a dusty room,
a forgotten breeze, your name whispered by strangers afar.