welcome to the hidden grave
Of lost sounds
silence, please
It is not I
Who requires it of you
I do not require it of you
I merely taunt you
with the dreamlike vitality;
the elysian sublimity
Of its elusiveness
as you squirm and wriggle and clutch
your throbbing temples
like a penitent who,
wobbled past the way to the synagogue,
stumbled upon the way to purgatory.
silence, please
It is you who requires it of you.
But here there is no silence
only voices
and voices and voices
playing and pleading
praying
in your head
for
silence, please
But here there is no silence.
The constant throbbing
elixir of pain
tracing chthonic patterns
in your protruding veins
demons in hell
singing dirges
of your birth
the miseries
of your existence
the shriek that lands upon your skull
like the butcher’s blade on gristles
the music of ache
the ache of music
prayers for silence
bursting out of you in curses
This is how it ends
In bits and pieces
No more.
Silence.
this is the silence of death
this is the death of silence
The sounds of your prayers,
found,
came down to me.
I who know no strife.
I pray in silence
I know the luxury
of pins falling
Like rebelious arch angels
Your prayers are useless to me
I stumble upon them
and stump on them
I see the dark-winged cricket
my friend my ally
the cicada
chirping your liturgy
I know what your supplications mean
I just don’t know
That you mean them
If you mean them.
I know the luxury
of some good tears
some loud tears
I know you laugh out loud
I know you cry in silence
I know you cry the most
when you laugh
I know no strife.
I know
That your strife is an accessory
I wear it with pride
It is my veil
it adorns me
It is the rich silk around my shoulders
Your strife is beautiful
your strife is pure
In silence
your strife is more articulate
your strife is my opium.
My strife is my pride
funny and disheartening
like the folly of officious old men
Linger upon it if you can,
It is not I who says these prayers.
Shouldn’t it be said,
In the end,
that it should not be said?
Is that what it’s for?
Is the importance of it
to express the uselessness of it?
I leave you here, then,
In silence,
With your strife.
Welcome to the grave of lost sounds.
