The whisper of the wind, a solitary call,
Leading the lost, guiding the found.
Repeating, repeating, repeating, it echoes—
The song of the traveler in a land unbound.
Revealing corners, shaded by murmurs,
Where steps imprint stories, where soles leave their marks.
Paths intertwine like threads in time, weaving whisper,
which binds the wanderer to the realm of arcs.
In the desert of self, the mirror reflects,
An oasis of thoughts, a pool of regrets.
Desert, desert, desert; an echoing refrain,
As grains of sand reshape destiny's frame.
The horizon dances, a serpent of gold,
Shimmering truth in the heat of the bold.
From shadow to light, from dusk into dawn,
The compass spins stories of journeys withdrawn.
So find your echo, find your song,
In the soft murmur of where you belong.
Direction, direction—flowing like a stream,
Dream within dream, a labyrinthine seam.
Find your way, if way there be,
In the silence that speaks, in the noise that is free.
In circles we wander, in lines we draw near,
A journey unending, a path crystal clear.