I sought for silence in the city, in the night, in my room.
I sought the silence of alone after twilight closed the day—
fulsome day.
I sought the solace of the silence, the alone.
Home at night is drowned in sound—hear it now:
Here are clocks tocking seconds, chuckling time in duple time
in my ear, they do converse:
is it time? it is time. is it now? it is not now. is it soon? it is soon.
it is time.
Hear the chorus of the motor of the PC motor's fan—
men together sing alone, a wordless chanting in B-flat,
ululating threnody their song,
a lament for the dead floating falling without end
a tremolo.
Hear the punctuating yummm of rolling tires on the road,
several someones going somewhere
in nightlight.
A shocking crunch of paper—it is cat playing bag,
after tail-thumping window-watching, mewling for her prey.
The window answers back—tip, tap, tat—it is a bug.
Inner light is sought by bug;
the hunt goes on.
I open up the jalousie and see the slatted fallacy—
the silent night, the wholly night, was none.
I see night's light is gone in the culling tones of dawn
I see I've never been alone really
either.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem