It's not a crime of silence
If we have no needs.
It's not a crime of noise
To voice them.
That's why the trees are silent,
Voicing leaves.
But we are no trees.
We are Voices.
Yet all our sounds are noises;
Our silence,
Clamoring sound.
I wish some breeze would blow,
And knock us down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Trees are silence. But leaves give voice. Blowing of breeze in nature gives nice feelings. An amazing poem is wisely penned and shared.10
Thank you for your comments. A poem about finding substance in one's own silence, and the authenticity of one's own voice. Something to that effect. Cheers!