Watch the child speechless but speaking;
Only a toddler of seven but speaking,
The eyes shrunken, the face shrivelled,
Doesn’t her silence speak, nor her quietness sleeping;

Watch the turquoise sky shimmering in the heat’s shimmer
With dark rolling, yet rumble less clouds hovering,
Watch it from expense edge of an ocean,
Or you sitting lonely on a pedestal, drunk or drunk less
All speaking in silence, or is it silently speaking

What about the speechless rosemary greening the garden,
its memory recovery scent, as if scentless
Sitting tiny on the middle of a prowling garden
With the power to energise the body’s wireless nerves;
Speaking in silence;

Does the page you look at speak?
Gibberish could be the language you read ,
Meaningful also it could be, yet it reaches the soul either ways
Soul harrowing in its gibberishes or mindboggling in its juiciness

What about me, faraway, whose poetry you read;
Have I spoken to you, the poem ticking in its voice?
Have they heard from me? They will in words
Its tone unique, though tongue less; sweetness of it.