In the dawning silence of spinning galaxies, words collide like unsung echoes playing hide-and-seek amongst nebulas....
Translation. The stars whisper a foreign dialect. Etchings of history lost in the quasar fade. Shadows beyond comprehension. I hum a tune beneath the cosmic murmur, the chorus of forgotten saturnine elegies spiral, weave, unravel, resettle the stars on my tongue.
In abandoned constellations, I find solace—mercurial spaces refract the light of unseen truths, galactic sirens beckoning a voyage inwards. I travel with no destination, becomes a rhythm, a pattern in the void’s heartbeat.
Do you hear it? A fractured lullaby/ a tentacle dream sung by stardust tendrils. The sky is an ocean; the horizon an unknown shore. We drift.
letters lost in the folds of time, they awaken, they call from the distance. Dialectical whispers of an astral symphony entangled with my soul. The universe expands, contracts, expands... a breathing maze.
Wildfires of supernova cast shadows on the rim of forgotten valleys. Each ember a note in the celestial hymn—a cacophony, a therapeutic dissonance.
— the stars know — tracing the patterns etched in light and dark, filing maps of synaptic travel logs—
The remnants of silence... echoes refracted, lost, bound to horizons. Listen. The stars are alive.
Are we but a fragment of their sleep?/ dreaming aloud under borrowed infinity?
A tranquil void lingers as notes glide, a cosmic murmur touching shores unseen. The melody awaits. Follow the glistening tide.