Syntax & Sematic
Word flowers into symbol, symbol ripens into belief; belief
braids itself into a shining system, until the system mirrors its own face and
cracks. From that bright fracture, paradox spills back into the first word, and
language dreams itself again.
Omar Khayyam Interpretation
Word
A sound is born, yet vanishes in air,
We chase its echo, thinking truth is there.
But silence laughs, the tongue dissolves in night,
Illusion clothed in syllables we wear.
Symbol
The mark on parchment claims eternal stay,
Yet ink itself will fade and turn to clay.
We worship signs as if they breathe and live,
Forgetting they are shadows in the play.
Belief
The heart believes what reason cannot bind,
It crowns the symbol, blinds the searching mind.
Yet faith itself is fragile as the dawn,
A fleeting spark the cosmos leaves behind.
System
From words we build the law, the creed, the throne,
And call it truth, though truth is never known.
The wheel of order spins on shifting sand,
Its pillars rest on breath, not stone.
Paradox
The system breaks, its logic turns askew,
The law denies the law, the false is true.
Yet in the clash, a deeper song resounds—
The paradox itself becomes the clue.
Return
to Word
Thus, back to speech, the circle starts again,
Illusion births illusion, joy and pain.
We drink the wine, we write, we laugh, we fade—
And still the wheel repeats its vast refrain.
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