If I Could Not Speak
If I could not speak,
I would hear my garden
stall in its hum of insects
and the wind giving a voice
to rhododendron leaves.
How my breath would scathe
the inner corridors of my lungs and throat,
and the new air
mixing with what it was seconds earlier.
The thoughts that plead
for manifestation when silence
is like a shadow
under a sun-lit window.
And then I would call
the names that are lost in speech
from the recesses of my memory,
hearing each one as a story.
I would grow tired
of meaning, losing my sense
of knowing - walking
out in the garden singing
without a sound.
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1 comment:
I love this. This poem speaks to me directly in many ways. The sense of I AM - also the place for pure listening -where I can hear and notice things I would otherwise not through endless words / thoughts / mental chatter.
"If I could not speak,
I would hear my garden
stall in its hum of insects
and the wind giving a voice
to rhododendron leaves."
Beautifully written. When I learn to keep quiet and embrace not-knowing - I hear and notice things I did not before.
"I would grow tired
of meaning, losing my sense
of knowing - walking
out in the garden singing
without a sound."
Really well written. Absolutely beautiful.
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