From the twilight tapestry, where echoes of vines weave whispers—
a mirage of shadows speaks untold myths, stuttering in the humid air,
while the jungle holds its breath behind cloistered green curtains.
Step forward, the light calls—beyond the shading tongues of leaves,
calling not with noise, but with the silence that embraces heartbeats,
each pulse a rhythmic path through the dark familiarity of roots.
Find the path, lost and found, in the quiet rustling of memory,
stitched covertly into the fabric of the whispering wild.
Emerge, a fragment—it is not the jungle that listens, but you.