I have no damnable words to make my voice
fit the sorrow. My heart had the audacity
to open, and then beat itself to life.
There isn't enough suffering to make anything.
pieces of beautiful scattered and kept both and I
have no room to belong to his smile.
.We
.Or maybe just I
are not breathing and the night
never ends. Nothing changes,
These eyes used to see imagination's miracles
trembling; motion; moons; hands; leaves.
infinite.
Buddha. words.
water. colours.
often I speak dreams now useless and how love
must simply sit waiting so refined and unadorned.
but I become undefined and more unclear.
and I blur in his eyes.
and I cant focus.
I move. Grow old. Die
Unbelieving. eventually unfeeling. body at rest
but soul imploring more...
of anything.......but distance.
hate.remorse.pain.fear.ache......elation.
anything.........but
. .there is a voice i hear
incessantly....caught in my hair.
It takes me to again.
and over. and over.
simplicity.
I know we have already died numerous times
unrequited. and unknown. and these words feel like cotton.
feel tasteless and pointless.
but they are words, and words are all that stick to my skin.
after all the places he touched. my God, i am treading air.
living is a chore. loving is a risk.
and i want to rip everything
away from the world except the truth.
which always resided in him.
remember ..............
depth is endless.
the end is nothing.
and if i can bear the quiet,
maybe the residual fire will keep me warm enough
to teach me that silence is not so terrible;
it is a language that could resurrect us all
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8 comments:
Shhhhh.... listen to the quiet night air.
Unspoken words.
A euphemism for an otherwise terrible thing - silence.
Silence is not the same as quiet, which is the absence of sound. It's an act. A stifling of a voice. Silence is about the pall of apathy, gloom of indifference and the chill of death.
The tragedy is that Love is painful. And the majority of the pain is the silent majority.
Language is what makes us human. Allows us to connect, share and belong. It's the foundation of all progress and knowledge.
Beautifully written as always, Sharin.
Just that I don't know the language of the unspoken.
hi,
your poetry arouses pain...but it is not taking the reader anywhere. you sure you can revisit the poem,,put little more punctuation,something more...
plz dont mind
jupinderjit singh
japs99@gmail.com
lurvvve it ..!!
especially the last line ..
"...it is a language that could resurrect us all"
"I know we have already died numerous times
unrequited."
My. Wow. Beautiful.
Send over some of the drugs that you are consuming, i need to reboot my poems.
I like the anger in this piece. Anger is good.
N
@Chris : That's all I'm doing :-)
@+ : Thanks for emoting in silence. I just pretend to hear it more :-)
@ Dee Dee : Let's get a float toy and head to see :-)
@ Jupinder : Thanks for visiting, come again. I rant :-)
@ Redemption : Thanks for loving :-)
@ Hussain : Speechless and enamoured. Thanks :-)
@ N : The drug is called Bombay. are u coming yet? :-)
wowww.... Your poetry is so deep. It touches the soul... While reading, you can really feel the emotions like as if you're going through the pain yourself...
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