In all life's ways she's back, that voice is back, as truth drifts back, all these paths which they'd wandered and dreamt upon turn back - Now unveiling through blanker verses of death's book, Now revealing as unborn artists look, Now concealing through these shattered shadowed lights of the vortexed color bar in a rainbowed void and so to reveal it that now it is back
Paradox of paradoxes whilst the voice chimes hollowed back though voice itself quieter contained, confined within verbal-lined visions of what? A Silent Echo, better still-
For though such soap-charred murmurings burn his desert soles softly silken to touch as yet parched out to whispering skin of these aqua-toned memoir-reflections, reverberations - yet will she continue to relay soundings of visions of great monsters past as they themselves envisioned their own monsters in this here theatre of our mind - keep your cruel blued visions and I shall, from white attempts relay blight visuals so that even the blind may hear such monster-pieced interpretations of heard silence.
- Excerpted from "Silent Echo" (1994)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful write up. Thanks for sharing. Please kindly check my poems HOPE and THE BEAUTY OF DEATH and do leave your comments