30 Riddles About Nothing

Riddles have been a source of amusement and mental exercise for centuries.

They challenge our wit, creativity, and ability to think outside the box. While riddles often involve clever wordplay, tricky logic, or mysterious scenarios, they can also be about the most unexpected subject: nothing!

In this blog post, we will explore some riddles that revolve around the concept of “nothing.”

These riddles will tickle your brain and make you ponder the fascinating world of empty spaces and pure absence.

Let’s begin.

Riddles about Nothing

In the vast expanse, where the stars shine bright, A presence I am, but never in sight. You can’t hold me, nor can I weigh, Yet I’m all around, night and day. What am I?
Neither empty nor full, in tales often told, I’m not in the young, but found in the old. Without me, there’s plenty, and with me, there’s none. I’m not really present, yet my race is run. What am I?
Neither thick nor thin, nor black nor white, In the deepest of voids, I take my flight. No feathers, no wings, yet I sail with grace, Across the cosmic sea, I find my place. What am I?
Not a whisper, not a word, not a shout nor a song, In the midst of the noise, I never belong. Yet without me, sound becomes truly profound, I’m the unheard element, waiting to be found. What am I?
Not bound by chains, nor locked in a box, Yet I’m always escaping, though no one talks. Never caught, never seen, forever amiss, In the heart of chaos, I am the abyss. What am I?
You chase me in dreams, and run from me in fear, Yet when you grasp for me, I’m never quite near. An illusion to some, a mystery profound, Yet in the busiest places, I’m rarely found. What am I?
I’ve been here and there, yet I’m not on a spree, Within the box, but also the sea. Sometimes I’m vast, sometimes confined, But I’m always absent, in the conscious mind. What am I?
No shadow I cast, no reflection to see, I’m neither the lock, nor am I the key. Travel through me, you will, in your life’s long run, Yet of substance or matter, I truly have none. What am I?
Within every story, there’s a space I reside, Not in the plot, but always beside. No hero, no villain, can ever take my spot, For I’m the part that the tale forgot. What am I?
Without form, without frame, with no fire or flare, I exist everywhere, but am also quite rare. I’m the peace in the storm, the quiet in the brawl, Yet of tangible things, I am not one at all. What am I?

In a room full of chatter, I’m the silent pause, Between every breath, without a cause. Not golden, not silver, nor any hue, Yet without me, every moment feels askew. What am I?
Not found in a basket, not seen in a jar, I’m not in the sky, nor am I a star. I’m essential for space, yet I am so slight, For in the vast cosmos, I’m the endless night. What am I?
In every tale, between the lines I lay, Not a word, not a letter, come what may. When writers ponder, their minds I clutch, For I’m the idea that’s just not much. What am I?
In numbers and sums, I make quite the pair, Yet I’m not even one, it might seem unfair. In a world full of things, places, and fun, I’m the amount that’s lesser than one. What am I?
I’m not in your pocket, nor under the bed, Neither in thoughts, nor inside your head. In places where matter seems to decline, You’ll find that, quite often, I’ve made it mine. What am I?
In the music of silence, I’m the dominant note, On the still waters, I’m the boat that won’t float. In the colors of void, I’m the prominent hue, Yet to the physical realm, I bid adieu. What am I?
You won’t find me in prints, nor in any book’s bind, In the secrets of time, I’m what you won’t find. Though I’m always around, in every look, every glance, Yet of substance or essence, I don’t stand a chance. What am I?
Neither in echoes, nor in any sound’s trace, I’m the quiet corner, in a bustling place. The depth in the shallows, the height in the low, I’m the essence of what doesn’t show. What am I?
I’m not the beginning, nor am I the end, In the fabric of reality, I don’t even blend. You can’t measure me with scale, foot, or mile, Yet without me, existence loses its smile. What am I?
In moments of clarity, when the world seems so bright, I’m the shadowless void, devoid of all light. Neither here nor there, no up and no down, In the world full of everything, I wear the crown. What am I?

I’m not the whisper of trees, nor the ripple in seas, In tales of old, and future pleas, Though I can be vast, or smaller than small, Most peculiarly, I’m not there at all. What am I?
In books, I’m the pages that words never touch, In the race against time, I’m the moment’s soft clutch. Invisible, intangible, without a decree, Yet without me, what could reality be? What am I?
Not in the echo, nor the songbird’s tune, I’m the silent night, and the hidden moon. No depth, no height, not even a spin, Yet without me, where would all begin? What am I?
Between layers of stories, and tales yet to tell, In the heart of the void, that’s where I dwell. Neither a start, nor an ending I bring, But in the realm of absence, I am the king. What am I?
Not the twinkle of stars, nor the depth of the sea, Neither found in laughter, nor in glee. In every corner, every nook and cranny I fit, Yet to describe me, words always quit. What am I?
I’m not the pause in your step, nor the blink in your stare, Neither the wind’s song, nor the fresh morning air. Endless I seem, but no form I possess, In the midst of everything, I’m the realm of less. What am I?
Not the glow of dawn, nor the night’s embrace, I’m the space in between, without a trace. In puzzles and mysteries, seekers might yearn, But to truly find me, where must one turn? What am I?
I’m not the colors that paint the vast sky, Nor the dreams that make you fly high. In the spectrum of being, in the dance of the sun, I’m the act that’s neither begun nor done. What am I?
Neither the thread, nor the needle’s eye, I am the gap, where no answers lie. Elusive and subtle, with no front or back, In the universe’s puzzle, I’m the piece that you lack. What am I?
Not in the notes of a melodious song, Nor the rights that correct the wrong. In the theater of life, on the stage so grand, I’m the performance that’s too subtle to stand. What am I?