In the whispers of forgotten echoes
Lies the imprint of unchronicled tales,
Each shadow a fragment
Of a soul adrift between unwritten folds,
Seeking paths amid ancient echoes.

Pages unwound in the garden of yesterday,
With ink washed away by the tears of untold time,
Skeletons of dreams unfulfilled,
Cloaked in the mist of eternal enigmas,
Waiting for echoes of tomorrow.

In the labyrinth of thought, a lone traveler wanders,
Seeking the traces of wholeness in scattered verses,
Each step a reverberation,
Through realms of silent murmur.