My cinnamon tea mixed with honey has become cold
and the flat bread has turned stale on the empty table,
as I lingered at the thought of the quiet space in my
cold rented house where time is of no essence but
the melody of silence sang by the evanescent snowfall;
There is music in silence which only the heart can hear
and it is the most profound of all classics out of which a
Beethoven was born to stir a crescendo of love and hope!
O Heraclitus, I beg to disagree with your supposition that
nothing in this world is permanent but change for I have
found that silence is more constant than change and the
melodies of the heart are as perennial as the song of
the eternal hope that springs out of the human spirit!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem