When the silence sets in, on a world darker than the night,
Every word sets out, in search of that elusive spark of light,
They fervently search every word the mind can harbour,
And find their quest for sound, getting all the more harder.
They finally leave the shore of belief, out into the ocean of doubt,
More quiet than happy, for, had they not forgotten how to shout,
It has been quite a while, since a smile replaced their laughter,
A while, since every sob had been replaced, by a tear more softer.
As long as their courage couldn’t swim, their fears wouldn’t sink,
It seemed the only thing still afloat, was their ability to think,
To think, over their every word, till it could be refined no more,
To silently spell every letter, till their parched throats grew sore.
He followed behind, hoping to convince them to stay,
Only to find his own tears, gladly joining their way,
All he could do, was wipe them away, and pray,
That his prayer, would find its voice one day.
Why couldn’t anybody else see the noose, at the tip of his tongue,
One from which every minute, every protesting word was hung,
Unspoken martyrs, all of them, for a cause long since lost,
None of them would ever know the value, of effort’s real cost.
Prisoners from birth, each of them learnt to speak, fluently, silent,
Correcting each other, on what the nuances of expression meant,
Composing into tune, what their every syllable sung,
Silencing their music, till its very heart quietly wrung.
A chance meeting with a stranger, led them to the destination,
And there they laid their brethren to rest, in calm decimation,
His heart, and soul, forced his eyes into celebration,
As his ears first heard, that primeval cry of liberation.
Another one for the Beacons again. This time it is for Divya. I came across a post by her titled Mute, which beautifully conveyed certain thoughts that I myself have long been feeling. The poem however left me with another additional thought. What if that person finally found those words, but couldn’t blurt them out any longer, because he was physically what the poem calls him, MUTE?
What if he could no longer create sound, and wanted to do so just one more time? To maybe, apologise, to maybe tell somebody how much he loved them, to maybe cleanse his mind of all that accumulated thoughts waiting to be sounded. But then, by the time I reached the ending, I myself felt so sad for him, that i decided to make it a ‘filmi’ ending. One of the things that happens to me sometimes. Guess that way there will atleast be one less reader who felt sad the poem ended the way i did.
This poem was titled after the depths of the throat from which voice emanates. Most often we believe that it is from the abyss of the throat from which words are generated, but sometimes, sound is created from a place far more deeper, the bottom of the heart. Such words live long after the sound has dissipated, like the voice that echoes after a long decade of silence.
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Divya
March 28, 2008
This one left me speech less…
Why couldn’t anybody else see the noose, at the tip of his tongue,
One from which every minute, every protesting word was hung.
Guess we all hold back most of what we want to say within us..sometimes out of fear of rejection..sometimes acceptance.
Glad u wrote this..
guptaghost
March 29, 2008
thanks.
and yes am also glad that i wrote it. from long it has been bothering me about what i wanted to tell someone but couldnt bring myself. this poem showed me the way, the liberation.
but like i said it is about a person who becomes literally dumb, before he can speak whatever it is he wants to speak. and after a lot of therapy is able to get back his voice.
which diverted me from the actual reason for the poem, about people who can, but dont speak, for whatever reason. so i guess the next poem will concentrate on that aspect.
meghnak
April 7, 2008
Lovely…awesome…u have a way with words like none another 😀
guptaghost
April 8, 2008
thank you. just something that i was ‘inspired’ to write. so i guess more credit should got to Divya.
instead, it is your blog that has caught my attention. it has brought back memories of a time when i used to write the same way, fluid and simple. in fact that was the originial reason i got into poetry, zealous to change how it was perceived, to show people it wasn’t only for the elite. to show them, it had something for the common to understand.
i guess somewhere along the way, something snapped, or maybe i just lost it. because i can realise myself how complex my poems have got from those early times. only the occasional poem that i have to force myself into helps me unwind from this complexity(like this poem was) into the simplicity that i started out from.
you still have that simplicity. kindly don’t lose it.