Listen closely, and you shall hear
the murmurs drifting from the endless ether,
where shadows intertwine with fragments of light.
They hold stories of whispering winds
untold by nations, unmarked on stars.
Along the corridors beyond dusk’s embrace,
there are whispers wound around forgotten dreams.
Lanas made of fragrant fog, delicately spun,
binding realms lost in pomegranate dusk.
Seek not the source, for it eludes reason.
Secrets rustle gently like sleep’s breath,
carried by the invisible hands on which truth rests.
Each echo wears a name unspoken,
each thought carried on spectral whispers
unfurls another reality's gentle touch.