I search for meaning in inaudible whispers
The murmur of dangling words rattle around my neck
I carry them while they sit silently in the background
Replies wisp back and forth, wondering which one is real
It depends on the day, the color of my mood, the strength of wind
A hint of truth tasted in each one
If I listen hard enough
The sway of leaves touch my ears
Streamed sunlight falls on me without divide
A walk through a slolam of shoots
A journey of curves of my own choosing
Pause, listen, remember
A lasting moment that returns
Just in time to level the balance and continue on
Needles scribble incoherent scripts
As tremor’s vibrations lift the baton
An orchestration begins
A conduction of surges play
Silent of sound, but not of affect
Crescendos reach their peak
Eventually intensities subside
Ending adrift in a sea of calm
Saturn’s rings dangle
As hands cup ears, leaning forward
Listening intently for a sign, a moment hidden in plain view
Lifting intention into the air, gently it tumbles
Gale force winds pause, waiting patiently for it to pass
Finding its place where it lands, gently settling in
It’s not what is said, but the tone of voice
The fog of innuendo painting fragments
Mouthing words of solace and confusion in the same breath
Leaving wonder in its wake
Shadows toss tapestries against blank walls
Past’s outlines move with the arc of the sun
Voiceless motions counter deafening emotions
Carving story lines that remain unchanged
.
Rewind, replay, retreat
The needle jumps back across a scratched record, my life
The chorus sung over and over again
Until the right moment to change the verse
An overhang of thoughts
It’s shadow drapes below
A silhouette that changes form with each passing impression
The warmth of the sun, a yearning
My arm outstretched, hoping just for a touch
A smooth stone skips on a glass surface
Temporary ripples leave behind knotted trails
Reflections shimmer, blurred imprints of what may or may not be
Waiting for calm, the calm in waiting, seesawing back and forth
Faded signposts on dusty roads
Silent lines waiting in empty phone booths
Roofless houses hidden under naked trees
Barren dry wells in need of redemption
A current of flashing images in a blink of an eye
A freshly raked pile of autumn leaves
A dandilion, standing perfectly still on a hot summer’s day
A neatly stacked pile of papers, patiently sitting on the sill of an open window
A struck match, a single flame, a thin string of rising smoke
A cloud of thoughts that trail my every step, my shadow
All waiting for that one gust to blow them away
Mat Aru Poetry 