Missing Vanash

Somewhere between the corners of Van and ash, there lies a missing piece. An irony wrapped in satire, unraveling itself before our blind eyes.
Why hunt for a shadow in a room full light?
Echoes of a mirthless penguin pantheon could counsel, "Seek what is absent, establish the monopoly of loss."

Here, assemble the unsolvable: A jigsaw puzzle missing its edges, cardboard pieces without corners.
A Rubik's cube, yet to be invented, where colors ponder but do not spin.
Such is the charm of kaleidoscope echoes, peering through blurred vision.

Missing Vanash isn't lost.
No postcards sent, no returns imminent.
This absence speaks louder than Hollywood's silent films.
Counting grains in desert winds, find the here with impossible theres.