The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Thursday, May 1, 2008


Raindrops falling
I cannot hear,
rejuvenating element,
birthing season of year.
Sparrows singing
yet still no sound,
only flashes of life
all around.
Figures weeping.
Why are they sad?
I am in silence,
at peace,
at last glad.
No more pollution,
I hear not any noise,
calmness and stillness
are in my poise.
Scent of flowers
in masses of dozens,
silhouettes familiar
even distant cousins.
Colour of black
so vivid and strong,
recognizing surroundings,
I must be wrong.
At least no more lies,
nor wars or hate,
enchanted silence
has met my fate,
as I walk again
through the iron gate.

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