Silence has an echo. Listen to it.

For a full experience, this page uses audio. You can adjust the volume using the slider in the top-right corner.

Scroll to explore dream worlds

Tap images to reveal poems

Swipe or use arrows to navigate

A lone mountaineer in a vast snowy landscape, beneath an imposing mountain.

The climb is not about the height, Nor of the fragile trail you see, But to hear, in silent, stark white, The first echo of gravity.

A dense forest covered in a thick layer of frost, creating a repetitive texture.

And you see: here silence does not hush, But etches itself in frost and cold, A calligraphy in the rush Of patience that the skies unfold.

The first gaze does not seek an answer, but measures the depth of silence. It is a step into a pristine white, where the only sound is that of one's own presence.

An old chapel on a green hill, under a dramatic sunset sky.

Through the warm eye of a sacred wall, You watch a thousand sunsets fade. The echo here is filled with all The vows that empty souls have made.

A relay station on a snow-covered mountaintop, in the golden light of sunset.

Through the cold frame of steel and frost, You see a longing with no way. The echo here is not of life, but loss, And expectations gone astray.

Then, the gaze seeks a frame. Not to limit, but to understand. Every ruin, every abandoned structure, is a window through which time still watches the landscape.

A calm river, viewed from under the drooping branches of a willow tree.

Beneath the eyelid of a hanging bough, You watch the water sift its years. It carries in its silent flow The echo of forgotten tears.

A man-made waterfall flows over a stone wall into a stream with round rocks.

And you listen: silence is not mute, But the water's unending song. A vow of stone in a dispute With every droplet that has passed along.

The gaze descends from stone to water. The frame becomes organic, fluid. Silence is no longer an absence, but a constant presence, a song that only water knows.

Strong sunbeams penetrate through a dense forest, creating a divine effect.

Then, through the lashes of the trees, The light descends not, but it speaks. You no longer look, but find your ease In the answer that in silence seeks.

An explosive, intensely orange sunset viewed from a mountaintop.

And you know, at the end of the road: The echo is not heard. It is seen. It is your inner fire that has glowed, To merge with the world's silent scene.

In the end, you stop looking *through* things. The frame disappears. And you understand that the echo you were searching for was not a sound, but a light you already carried within.