Have the stars brought you here,
to seek among the shards of liquid night,
the mirrored whispers of a bygone song?
In worlds not mapped nor charted,
the cries of silent echoes fold over
each byzantine ray that dances
among puddles
—oh, the vast, vast wanderings of dreams.

Once, beneath the arc of an unseen crescent,
the tales of a constellation’s breath
poured onto the skin of earth;
a prophecy tangled in twilight,
lingering on the dew of inky reeds
— the verse of an age not yet born
scribbled in the sinews of the sky.

Seek the echoes’ soft refrain,
the one sung by planets
in realms beyond this galaxy’s sigh,
where cradle songs dissolve in stardust mist—
the forgotten hymns of silent spheres
caught only in the lonely gravity
of dreams left to float among the stars.