Where silence learns to stay, the heart grows still,
Released from proving, pleading, or reply;
No word is forced to climb the wounded will,
No truth is rushed to satisfy the cry.
Here pain is held without a named defense,
And grief is granted room to breathe and rest;
The weight of loss finds gentler consequence,
When silence guards what language would distress.
In this held quiet, thoughts begin to mend,
Not healed by sound, but steadied in their place;
The self no longer strives its truth to send,
Nor measures worth by echo or by praise.
So silence stays—not empty, not withdrawn—
But full of peace that speaking never dawned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem