The Silent Continent Poem by Benjamin Chiu Uy

The Silent Continent

If you think for once,
Ive never seen your faces
Ive never learn your language.

For once the dead were piled from hills to hills, miles and miles in their silent continent,
They are now silent,

Not a name for the soldiers,
Not a name for the lovers,
Not a name for the emperors and the kings,
Who stroll in their invisible lands of silence.

Or else the memory forgets those broken details, the years, the lists, and the numbers,

We who believe it was a song
Praying, crying or whispering,
Thouht it was an oral pronouncement for their obituaries
It was the wind singing,

There were no voices but dirges,
A low wailing in the midnight sounds of the wind in those hills,
Sympathizing with the living,

As the millions are dying in the streets, in the homes, and in the hospitals,
There are no languages availiable for us but our prayers,
It is the practicallity to move around in the sunlight today, tonight and tommorow,

This is the sane language for the living,
The continuance for the laughter, the joke and the rendezvous tonight,

While the dead are whistling with the low hills of the unknown and having their own intercourse with nature,







Or even a name that was not a sailor who did not came near my boat,



I never here or distant
Just a wild wind trapped by a memory,

I heard the oral pronounsment

I was a mercury floating in the air aroundthe room

Rising hot or cold,
With the a dependence o