i've known silences without quietness
wars without guns, agonies without categories,

 i ve
hugged momentarily with peace.

Time and time again
I trudged away from personal disasters, some self created, some encountered.

i've collected my battered parts, recovered life in my own terms.

i've held you like a fragment, like a star, a filament....like my ' could have beens '.

i've held you like a memory of enlacing fingers
when love
was simple as the sunshine on the walls.

I have up my ideas of permanent and éternel.
Learnt to sit quiet.
i've been synonymes - darkness and i.
till the moon rose like a songbird in the midst of my words.

Words
they drizzle, they poke, they pirece
they flurry the layers of stillness.

Naming my uncomfort
i cry out
'Look, this is not a wound!'
' This is me !'

Between bleached incoherent phrases
i meet you again
here on an empathic page where i could possibly touch you
Hoping
probably,you could hear me!

i mailed you my letter to an address you can't find
unless your mailbox is
In your heart.

The ink on this page is lifeless

What is alive 
is in my darkness, and its hunger.

i write with my darkness 
hungering for light

Words come into existence 
from a longing to follow the sun.....

a Sun
that rises in the solitary skies of my silence....
a silence i've always been  following obediently.

A silence for angels to come
and dance to its music.

A silence overlooking the bounds of the mind, 
yet, there,
in the very core of daily life
where
thoughts break
into wings of feelings
flying
to find for itself an unnamed world.

Writing is the narration
experiencing the journey.

The events taking place 
takes place intimately within intimacy
of a God smiling in his garden.

Your heart is then lit with candles
and  becomes mute with Happiness.