Seshat Nibada


Mute


I was the slightest in the house
Warm of spirit, light of heart
I took the smallest room
With the greatest piece of night

I was the vulnerable one in all of that
My little lamp played in the wind
As I wrote the story of my life
I was not a creature, but a spirit

I never spoke, of the unaddressed dreams
They just sort of remained inside of me
They had no penpals, only secret comrades
How noteless was my love – I could die –

But I didn’t, I grew like a an old Geranium
Plastered in a book, that nobody read
So stationed in bliss & melancholy
I was the most alike, the rest of humanity.

Submitted: Saturday, September 21, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 23, 2013

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http: //seshatwuji.wordpress.com/2013/07/13/mute/

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