What we hear is not what’s sound
It’s that which renders us numb,
Which does not wriggle the two ears
But makes the thoughts go dumb.
In the darkest hour of the brightest day
Emerging from the darkest door,
He walks the aisle with precious stones
When breaks open the sky’s floor.
In all but a crispy soft silence…
The walls with the colours of sun
Scream with the tolling bells and hymns,
All to be lost in the light as a shade
As the moments spent in dimes.
But along it sits in the dead silence…
It walks with hooves that have lost voice
With wool that has forgot to shield cold,
A tongue which has ceased to move
And ears whom no stories are told.
Musing away in the eternal silence….
Pacing ahead and speaking forth
He speaks of the life transiently made,
How darker side of darkness still
Is born amidst the brightest glade.
Enlightening the marrow silence…
Life awakens from the shrouds
The golden cup of life ever overflows,
He aches when life falls from the brink
As for the petal cries the rose.
But in the end only one voice echoed
Of the Lamb’s silence on the Heaven’s Road…