Like dew at dawn,
to be, I need silence.
Original, select and brutal silence.
emancipated romantic
I seek to feed on silence
that does not silence speech when loving.
Or the one who expelled me
to verbalize anger and compassion
out of the firstborn water.
I hope some eclipse come back
-for a magical moment perhaps-
at time zero
in which the womb welcomed me
and I met the exit first:
Prison silence, soft walls.
Cult silence, of uncultivated tongues.
Sacred silence, of seized light.
Silence, silence, pure and complete.
Thanks to that sensory dance
in a darkening of my life
benevolent was the calm of my sleep
in which, a wise silence from heaven
healed the hoarseness of my heart and body.
And because of the bad silence, nymph I was reborn,
I try that one, flowered with verses
that, if my rites whip the cabal,
in global meekness, loud exclaims,
the inaugural and best of me.