when they begin to throw stones against each other
i am no longer there
i hear nothing breaking
i see nothing bleeding
and then they follow me wondering why is this man so strange?
why does he talk only to himself?
why is he so broken despite the quiet?
there is this hollowness that spreads like a space upon itself
beyond the edges of the blanket
within the softness of the pillows
there is this irony of believing and not believing at the same time
a puzzle that we make and ultimately we cannot solve ourselves
there is this particular quiet that stabs those who care to listen
there is this life that takes life upon itself and escapes what death offers
there are tantrums of the spirits in the dawning of the end of times
the tongues of fire descends upon us and there is no moment of misunderstanding
we theorize that these, all these possibilities can exist
a quiet that conquers and devours what evils we have stored beneath our bellies
a quiet that can not be bought or sold or squander
the soft rain during a sunny day hovering upon a thick grass spreading
in every nooks of our humanities....
this is a peaceful mind speaking unfiltered what comes and says what comes genuinely unedited on meanings still to be captured
decipher then if you can in the quietest moment of your mind
falter not, perhaps flatter a little, flip, flop and flap those wings unimagined...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem