The earth hums a solemn tune, an echo of eons past, tethered within its veined embrace.
Occasionally, in dreams, a voice emerges—a hieroglyphic serenade, woven in forgotten tongues.
Where do echoes congregate, stitched in narrative and mystery? Beneath layers of eternal slumber.
Stars once whispered names, etching them in the dust of moons unturned.
Here lie remnants of carved thought, reflections mirrored in silence.
To understand, one must become the echo—resonate with the cave of beginnings.
Α Ε Ί Γ Γ Υ Γ Ι Σ Τ Ρ Ο Μ Λ Ε Ξ Η
Ponder the invisible trails, the glyphs etched on the fabric of being. They mark journeys of
the cosmos and the rhythms of the heart. In returning, we become layers ourselves, an echo
of every heartbeat beneath the surface—so many lives, so many tongues, each written in time's
tapestry.