The Silent Embroidery of the Shadow

On the wall where time has woven
Wrinkles of chalk and discreet dust,
The shadow does not veil, but reveals the mute
Ancient relief, the secret fold.

It is no absence, but a finger that probes
Every grain, every distant fiber,
And the dark void where light overflows
Unveils a map, an unknown pattern.

Here the smooth is silent, but the rough speaks
With black syllables, a mute alphabet
Which only the shadow’s touch teaches,
Sculpting the truth that was misconceived.