In the silence of a name, echoes resound,
Whispered softly by winds, a gentle refrain.
Each syllable a story, a soul unbound,
Weaves through time, yet never the same.

Names are rivers, carving paths unknown,
Through valleys of memory, mountains of dreams.
They hold the sun and stars, seeds of the sown,
Binding past to present, in ethereal streams.

Identity blooms in the garden of sound,
Roots deep in whispers, petals in the air.
The dance of letters, in circles they’re wound,
A tapestry of being, beyond compare.

In the labyrinth of language, they find their place,
Each name a beacon, a light in the mist.
With every breath, they paint a sacred space,
In the gallery of life, they quietly persist.