Listen— the immersion of solitude is not an absence,
It converses within its own hollow chamber,
Every silent cry sculpted into memory.
Are echoes contradictions of presence or weightless dimensions,
intruding without limbs, bearing time instead, bearing tales?
Like shadows rehearsing their dance without a sun.
Passages of Elsewhere,
where stones dream to speak, casting reflections in tidal musings—
the beyond yearns, whilst here, the solitude persists.
An old sound, perhaps a future sigh,
Plays through the cosmic hum, constructing void maps
One breath at a time, erasing dimensions, defining touch.
Contours of Silence: traversing the forgotten forests
where umbral sentiments fade into ground tales, carved by a wind that rests aimlessly...