Silence talks to me;

About the little angels
Who come, fill of faith, from far away
To go along the misleading way.

About the brave dwellers of graves
Who enjoy in awe their absolute equality
While traveling towards eternity.

About the rare red rose
That keeps asking heavens for a drop of rain,
For mercy, now and again.

About the hot tears
That fall from the eye
Onto the crying heart to douse the old flames.

About the lost embers
Of those flying dreams
That did not happen and will never be.

About the mysterious holly Fountain
From which we all drink or gargle,
Only to taste the sour flavor of living.

Silence keeps talking to me;

About birth,
About death,
About love,
About tears,
About the flying dreams,
About life…

© OUADIA EL GHAZI