In a world where lines and arrows weave,
A traveler roams, unwilling to grieve,
For maps are mere whispers, of paths long sullied,
He listens to the heartbeats, where silence is mulled.

Through forests woven in emerald dreams,
Each rustle a promise, each shadow redeems,
No compass to hinder the dance of the wind,
Just instinct’s soft whisper, her journey begins.

The mountains stand guardians, ancient and wise,
They cradle the secrets, where the wild eagle flies,
With every step taken, he feels the earth sigh,
“No need for directions, just follow the...