In voided expanse where silence reigns supreme, There dwells the Absence of Interaction, An enigma, wrapped in paradox, It neither stirs nor beckons forth a sound, A being who is not, yet is in truth, A presence felt in absence, yet obscure. There simmers Other, the unfathomed 0, A specter moving through the fabric, Dissolving all with languid, shifting grace, Its touch extinguishes identity, Reducing all to naught, to shadow-play, An echo lost within an empty chasm. A dwells in realms unmarked by want of fate, For winning bears no weight upon its soul, Yet 0, relentless, knows but one decree: To render even cessation void of form. In struggle silent, layered shadows clash, And in that breach, the essence shifts and fades. At last, through sheer negation’s breath, it thrives, For in the dance of absence, life withdraws, And thus, the Absence, paradox of self, In silence, breathes its last and fades away.