Xilence*. A poem, for a poet (written to style her own metaphors)

Step into the river.
We could drink our solitudes for tea
And leave the biscuits crumbs on the table clothes of our skin.
Pecking at them with the lustful beaks of our minds.

Ungloriously, looking at the dying sun.
Consoling the scars that are.
And those that will never be.

The bitter taste of the known , numbs our tongues
while words mumble in fear
to deaf gods.
Nevertheless, the acuphene is only a hum that won't disturb the music of silence;
Nor, stop being a lover again.

If we could look into the mirrors of our faces
And watch the melting of the sorrow we deny.

In denial, feel the stink in every God's shitpot
the leftovers of his paradise.

Remembering, to forget
your last dance in the sand.
The winds that carried your sand dunes
into the heart of a forest, growing out of your own myth.

And so what, if hatred are the shoes in which you walk
screaming, blasphemy for philosophy
from the sour rivers of our experiences.

So what, if insanity laughs
in every crumb that we ate.
The bitterness now
on numb tongues, babbling...
Indifference, puts hers arms arround our shoulders
drying the streams of life.

So what, if our open eyes, before beautiful landscapes, suffocate in their blindness
transforming canvases, drenching with wet paints of our pain.

Refusing to die.
even, when the walls of our ego fall upon us, in crushing piles.
Kissing the feet of the Gods we have created
from the hankering of our desires, for heaven and immortalities.

Step into this river
Never to be the same ever again.

when memories have been washed away
Our own Godheads shall no more be a myth .

our faces shall have no more their skin
from, the endless to endless, we shall stay flowing .
From, the nameless to silence, we shall sing our songs and dance our dances.
The beautiful shall no longer be a quest -but, the emanation of our beings.
Our shoes, discarded by its uselessness
we shall walk ,naked feet in our souls, and fly without wings in our heavens.

The landscapes where we wander
where wanders also our rivers.
Thus, be witnesses to them, without the need to open our eyes.
For it is'nt through our open eyes we shall witness our own ungowning selves.

Step into this river,
the endless river of breath;
With each breath, we shall melt down our masks,
to see our faceless face
unfolding out of every flower .

Step into the river.
Within each heart
the springtime showers the most beautiful perfume
spreading in the nostrils of our soul.
And only one word shall name it

Love.

And it shall remain more than a word.

Step into the river
Love is more than a word
Just as, the ever changing smiles on the lips of the Nameless.
Each day, invites us through open doors
passing, secrets only our emptyness can grasp.
Translations only our silence can understand
Be there then, with the river
endlessly flowing to the nameless.

The happiness that we seek, shall depend on no heaven
And the heavens that we seek, shall depend on no God.

Is not God the mysterious quality
of Love flowering .
Is not the flowering of love - God.





*Xilence ( to be pronounced as exsilence) is a new word that i've created.
it means = exiled in noise.