SILENCE
I’ve begun to realize that you can
listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its
own.—Chaim
Potok, The Chosen
Two
o’clock in the morning.
How
silent is the room…
Just
before a motorcycle roars,
Chopping
the air into jagged chips of din
Thrown
round and round a flywheel,
Spiraling
into the orifice of the outer ear,
Noisy
swirling water inside a gurgling drain,
Bowling
ball rolling heavily down wooden planks…
Then
it fades...
Sawdust
bursting in air,
Settling,
a fine layer of manna,
Powdery
film on the workshop floor.
You
cannot hear anything again.
Silence
is thick bread—
It
lies on a plate and makes a crusty whisper
Only
if perturbed by buttering.
Solid
door of heavy beams tightly riveted by iron knobs,
Slammed
shut and bolted,
Sealed
even in its tiniest crevices,
Stands
guard at the portal to the strange habitation of another world.
Sparkling river of silence…
Sparkling
river of silence,
Traveler
along a shadowy forest floor—
I
drink deep draughts, lasting,
Of
your overflowing stillness!
Tipping
your goblet,
I
taste your darkness
As
floral wine
Swirling
inside a crystal
And
breathe in perfume.
Fingers
of a spellbound existence
Stop
my ears.
Awe,
black thief, steals my voice.
Bereft
of noise, I am
Transfixed
as the blood moon
Hovering,
windless night,
Balanced
on the sword tip of time.
The
world is motionless
As
my spirit moves
And
my stumbling heart is filled
By
a presence…and quiet…
A
quiet presence.
NOCTURNE
I
am a lover of the moon and silence,
Silence
milky as the moon,
Moon
radiant as silence.
Silence
is silver fish in black water,
Moon,
bright flour and hot yeast,
Rolled
into a fist,
Exhaling
as it rises.
Push
night against day,
Leave
a small opening
—the
moon.
Feed
the wind
So
it lies quietly,
Rising
with effort
—silence.
Faraway
plume of white smoke,
Twilight
crossing the border,
Comet
in exclamation,
I
see, not hear.
Heartbeats
quickened by grief,
Engine
roar beyond the wall,
Secrets
spoken in a dream,
I
hear, not see.
Blinded
by the moon, I call out in my heart to silence striding into blackness beyond
earshot.
 |
| Silence: Communication without Words by Ian McCall |
