The temple sleeps beneath the stars,
its doors closed, its bells still.
Only one light burns in the window—
a small sun dreaming of galaxies.
Outside, the night plays its endless game:
moons rise, shadows fall,
worlds spin like prayer wheels
no hand has touched.
No one watches,
and yet the watching is done.
The light flickers,
the void smiles.
In this quiet,
the universe rolls its dice of dust and breath—
no winner, no loser,
only the play of being and not being.
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