In the cradle of a conch, whispers
swirl like a dance of moonlit shadows.
They speak of seas not walked, yet known,
of cartographers who charted dreams
not on maps but heartbeats.

Listen, listen near; the ocean slumbers
beneath the parchment of your palm,
nestling tales in layers of silence.
Each note, a forgotten lullaby—
just there, just within reach, yearning...

Can you hear a song
bereft of time, a cradle's coo?
It's there, strung across distance,
sculpted in echoes,
wrapped in twilight's embrace.

Let your breath
mimic these murmurs;
together weave a thread of secrets,
to spin your silence
into echoes made of songs.

Venture further into silence,
on sands shifting stories
approach the whisper even faintest
touch the elusive heart of
light's fugitive sigh.