Silence-II
There are things that can be measured—
Or proved by dint of logic.
There are others that are real,
Yet dismisssed as faith or magic.
And such a thing is silence—
The silence of the soul,
The quiet that is healing—
That makes what’s sundered whole.
******
How blessed is the silence—
If even for a while,
We hear again the softer sounds
That cause us then to smile.
So when the war has ended
And bombs have ceased to fall,
With cannons fallen silent,
The sigh is heard by all.
In the bustle of the city,
In a park, we see the sky
And hear the leaves that rustle—
And then we breathe and sigh.
But most of us have chatter
That’s there, within our heads.
We hear it in the quiet
As we lie upon our beds.
And so we fear the silence
And fill our lives with sounds.
So music too resembles
The firing out of rounds.
We fill our lives with actions.
We cannot sit at ease.
Our minds are filled with conflicts—
So how can there be peace?
And some have silenced conscience.
They cannot hear it speak.
Its voice is drowned by clamor.
Who then defends the weak?
Our eyes are filled with nonsense.
Our ears are filled with lies.
We are sold our wars and gizmos.
What chance, for being wise?
Our lives are isolated.
We’re frightened by the quiet.
As many still go hungry,
We wonder, “Should we diet?”
And yet there’s peace in silence.
It blesses, soothes and heals.
So I should stop my natter
To learn how silence feels.
******
I learned it well in childhood.
I cherished it in youth.
I barely now remember—
And would relearn that truth.
The silence that's in Nature
Is there within a jail.
It's harder there to find it,
So inmates often fail.
When found, it is a treasure—
A gift that comes as grace.
You can hear it in a cadence,
You can see it in a face.
It is there in tribals, peasants.
It is rarer in the towns.
It is rarer still in nations
That are ruled by thieves and clowns.
Yet silence is a blessing
That is always there for all.
It is present in the winter—
And the summer, spring and fall.
You can sense it in the noontime,
In the dawn and in the dusk.
You can scent it in the morning—
And the evening, in the musk.
It is there in plains and valleys,
And in mountains rising high.
You can see it in the river
And the ocean and the sky.
It is there in field and forest,
And in villages and cities.
It is there, where someone suffers
Whom no one helps or pities.
It is there and gives us comfort.
It is there and makes us wise.
It is there, when truth is shredded
And is then replaced by lies.
Is it there, when some are screaming
As they burn and die in wars?
Is it there in mines and factories,
And in places wracked by cars?
******
I wish that I could say so,
With evidence to show.
I only have this insight
And that is all I know.
When we’ve fulfilled our duties
As best as we are able,
We might enjoy that silence
That some declare a fable.
2019 June 8th Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
