Wordlessness
Those times when I was alone,
a turbulent and stormy mind.
Maybe, I was searching something,
there, sitting beside an old Oak,
watching ants, and the moss filled with rain.
Leaving foot prints,
all over the endless space.
In the face of winter, dead white,
with the winds so cold.
Maybe, if I begin to speak,
all that comes out will be a lie,
their stony landscapes,
sometimes betray the mind.
Well, many nights, I try to retrace those times,
Oh! I've forgotten, when did I become so quiet.
but I remember glimpses of a child,
sitting beside an old Oak tree,
under the isolate silence of a hill,
watching ants, and moss filled with rain,
watching stony words,
crawl on the ground and change form,
suffocating like leech under salt.
And maybe, they're still echoing out there,
smashing against stone walls,
circling under the grumbling skyline,
or maybe, they've fallen defeated,
and buried alive,
drained of all emotions now,
under a thicket of colorless time.
Quite interesting especially your last stanza. I have often wondered what happens to all the words that teachers use intending to educate and that preachers/orators speak. Maybe, stones do absorb all these sounds and encase them forever or they are out there floating in space and maybe someday someone will be able to hear them again.
Thanks! It is quite true that words and thoughts circle everything. There are some places that always speak to you, where even if you visit for the first time you feel a strange connection. Landscapes and the weather effect our emotions profoundly and thus our thoughts and words.