Words are for when we disregard silence.
Writing is the tendency of the forgotten poetry to unveil,
the search of timelessness
for the forgotten times!
We leave beyond the stretches of now:
when lines experience volume,
when moments in the rims of our attentions
turn amaranthine.
We carve, chisel we engrave the silence
with our voice.
Reticence is the breading spell
a sip of water touching the throat
before the blade,
when going on and on
finding the words that we now know once we knew.
when silence vociferously
struggles like a beheaded sacrifice
for the missing limbs,
looking for its head
forsaken in the slaughter yard of mediocrities,
in the battle of what is ought to be said
and the saber of what is said,
the tumultuous drum of voids
in every feeling,
every bruise of waves, of sound,
vibrating to the missing silence,
when
we make sense
to avoid the hollow
that we just sensed.
