#philosophycal
Zero was never empty.
It was crowded with potential —
a silence so dense
it bent inward.
Before matter,
there was tension.
Before light,
a rumor of radiance.
Points did not gather —
they entangled.
Across no-distance,
they whispered coordinates
to one another.
Thus, a place emerged —
not built,
but collapsed
from possibility.
Mist is the memory of uncertainty.
It blurs the arrogance of edges.
What you call form
is only probability
momentarily obedient.
A thought —
not born,
but tunneled
through the walls of nothing.
It appears.
Ink follows.
Color fractures.
Metal bends to concept.
You say: poem.
painting.
invention.
But these are only
stabilized tremors
in the field of the unseen.
Dimension is a bruise
on infinity.
And every creation
is a brief rebellion
against the symmetry of zero —
which patiently waits
to reclaim its silence.
Musfiq us shaleheen
13.02.2024
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 2:43 AM UTC
Do not be the one
to calm
others’ seas —
storms
that never asked
for rescue.
Dark clouds
block the rays
of your sun —
the one you lack.
Stay afloat
on salty tears
and let yourself breathe
before the body,
laden with anchors
of good intentions,
pulls you under for good.
Perhaps it is you
who is drowning
in the waves
of yourself —
stealing your breath.
After all,
who will warm you,
if not the same light
that today casts you
in shadow?
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 11:35 AM UTC