Silence

It’s a soft cloud that settles after so much rain, after the tumultuous applause of tongues simmers away to allow a mist to claim the room. It’s a safe place sometimes, it saves our grace when there is chaos and there are too many decibels to deal with, held softly it grants a respite from the stampede of life’s less tranquil spectrums. Silence slides through empty homes when life is spent, when days are sent to slumber, it paints into the night a thin slip of light that allows the smallest lungs, from beneath the blades of grass, to serenade the night.

Sometimes silence thunders, it harbors echos of a life already lived. When the traffic of everyday is drowned out by silence, inside us, the cannons of old wars reverberate their anguish. The dialogues that refuse to die, live inside the quiet moments that still the senses. Silence rouses the nocturnal voices that are rested while the world of sounds is active, the voices that find you when the world around you pauses for rest. Silence is never silence, the echos are waiting, silence allows for another spectrum of life that has no opening for anyone but you.

Allowed to its share of life, silence is a loving gesture, a needed gesture. I could dance in the cacophony of my senses wildest celebration for senseless stretches of time, however the constant crashing of waves eats away at my shores. When the waves simmer and still their frenzy for a moment, a host of game is invited into the flow, and for a moment I can take stock of my quarry. I can see what it is that is attracted to to swim amidst my flow. When we get busy living it’s hard to see what we are drawing into our intimate space, I take the quiet as a cue to watch for the elements that thread through these echos of a life lived, I thin the heard accordingly.

In listening to the sounds of silence, I have learned the rhythm. The ebb and flow of the outside world bleeding in, of my inside world beating out. I listen, and move my feet to the hidden cadence of that harmony.

Sunrise

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My early call to rise rings out at the same time ever morning, 5 am. Every morning, at 5 am, I rock myself out of a shallow sleep, gather the scattered pieces of my focus and brace myself, ready to face the budding day at its root. I loathed dawn for so long, returning to it only through necessity.

I recently found hidden value and beauty in those early hours. It wasn’t the way in which the horizon bled as the sun stalked the weakening night sky. It wasn’t the tranquil air, alive with a heady mix of possibility and bird song , it was something different. It was the way it mediated my conflicting thoughts and gave my hope a backbone, the way it allowed my compass to settle to a true north, it allowed me to breath in the realisation that, like that rising sun, coming from everywhere, to embrace everything, I have to go far from comfort to pierce the blackness.

My eyes are drawn to the morning sun, with envy and curiosity. When 5 am arrives, I rise to chase a dream.

 

SUNRISE

As your golden arcs dissolve the night, I wonder where you’ve been.

you trace the distance silhouettes with ribbons of foreign fire.

Fermenting the swollen shadows by imposing your rosy sheen,

as your golden arcs dissolve the night, I wonder where you’ve been.

I’ve been tested by dawns return, the burn of an auburn, keen

to unfold the day, invoke a steam to power our souls desire.

With your golden arcs dissolving night, I wonder where you’ve been,

you trace the distance silhouettes with ribbons of foreign fire.

–  Triolet

(c) Saili Katebe