Beneath the gnarled branches of the banyan that knew the songs of lost poets, there the wind whispered, a tapestry woven with the strings of forgotten dreams. The lunatic, with eyes alight like the embers of a waning fire, spoke to the breeze, his voice a symphony that trembled with the echoes of uncharted realms. Beyond the horizon, he declared, where the sun kisses the dusky shadows, lies the haven of the unheard.
Listen closely, for the strings hum with stories of ages unspent, tales of phantoms that glide through the corridors of the mind, their laughter mingling with the sighs of the tempestuous air. Each note a ripple upon the pond of reality, each silence a powerful roar that could topple kingdoms.
Do you feel it? The caress of the invisible fingers, orchestrating a ballet of thoughts, a waltz of reflections. The lunatic continues his yammering, unperturbed by the world's indifferent gaze, for within him swells an ocean of melodies, and the strings, oh the strings, they vibrate in tune with the cosmos.
Seek the silent guardians, those ethereal sentinels that watch over the dreams, and perhaps, just perhaps, the winds shall reveal their secrets to you.