In the quiet dusk, where the horizon folds into eternity,
the grains sing low, a lullaby of ghostly tales,
soft glissandos of aeolian voices,
woven into the fabric of dust-breathing winds.
Once, they say, cities sprawled here,
their glories etched upon a precarious permanence.
Now, only shadows beneath the blistering sun,
in the rust of broken statues, whispers cling.
Wander down endless corridors of sand,
let the tides of time shape you anew,
slip past forgotten ruins, cradled in silence.
Listen – let the whispering sands cradle your name.
Echoes of the Ruin
Mirage of Dreams
Shifting Truths
Beware the wisp, it shimmers with lies,
and the sand serpent coils around honesty,
in this ever-looping dance of fading song.
In the distance, a flicker – the phantom caravan,
their whispers merge with the murmurs of the psyche.
Follow if you dare, for the journey is yours alone.