Anatomy of Silence

What do I accept from this silence,

this silence that lacerates peace,

this silence, anathema to bliss,

this silence, frenzied like an addict

deluded about cocaine & clouds.

This silence, pensive, dramatic

amping tension, wrecking intention,

this silence, violent and vicarious,

this silence between two lovers &

two phones.

This silence seems to say something,

my bunny ears cocked at the angle of a

murderous gun,

I can’t hear you

I can’t hear

I can’t.

I listen for silence,

the rub of nappy hair on metal,

the rub of stringy beard on brass.

I listen beyond this silence

to the tragic music of indifference;

If victory invites ululation,

why must silence seek its own company?

I know comfy silence

plush like Persian rugs &

burgundy ottomans,

silence cut with the finesse of

affluence. Silence that

accounts for itself.

Silence that touches itself.

I know post-coital silence

spent bodies in repose,

the plop of a weary heart

buried so far deep in a rack

of ribcages.

I know the silence of old couples

sashaying in the wind,

cloth hems fluttering,

holding hands & each other’s lives

with a gentle grip calcified

by church blessings & offsprings.

I know the silence of flailing love

Its complacency trudging with egg-shell caution

I know the silence of sibling rivalry,

knotted by mother’s love

& cord blood.

I know the silence that precedes sleep.

The dip into unconsciousness,

neurones decelerating,

activating dreams and slow waves.

I have learnt the lofty lesson of silence &

its kinship with patience.

The gap between

two songs on a playlist is silence.

The lacuna between two rising voices is silence.

The response to unrequited love is silence.

A mother’s call of an errant child demands silence.

The gaps between prayers is silence.

The hallmark of a graveyard is silence.

And the nature of silence itself is stillness.

Tell the tranquil waters about silence

Tell the aftermath of a reverberating echo

about silence.

Tell silence about silence and silence will be

its response. But where do I hold this silence?

How do I fold it into a flotilla of origamis coasting

on the bayou?

This silence, vibrant & elusive

it begs to be accepted.

But how do I accept this silence?