In the garden where shadows converse with light,
a symphony of silent echoes plays the song of yesterday.
Here, the truth wears a mask of intricate lies,
a paradox of existence, blooming in twilight's gaze.
The wind carries fragments of forgotten songs,
notes painted in hues of dreams and dewdrops.
Time bends, a gentle giant in the cradle of now,
caressing the surface of an untold tapestry.
Let the seeker wander through the corridors of being,
where the unseen reveals the presence of absence.
Trust the whispers, heed their tender call,
for in their dance lies the truth's final unmasking.