In the beginning there was no word,
there was vibration.
A murmur hidden in the earth,
where calm was not absence,
but origin.
Amani sleeps in the stillness of the pulse,
between breaths that seek no time.
She promises no comfort,
only silence, and within it, the truth.
Hekima speaks without a voice,
like one who reveals what was always written.
She does not teach, she remembers.
Her clarity does not illuminate:
the darkness simply ceases,
and the world remembers its original form.

Between the two, sound dissolves.
Neither night nor dawn:
a suspended instant,
where everything vibrates, and nothing prevails.

Peace as shadow.
Wisdom as echo.
The rest is barely movement.