“Silence can sometimes be deafening.” That is exactly what this poem is about. A silence that emerges from unspoken words and pain. It is about the silence of a woman who cannot speak her heart out and whose silence is echoed through every object around her as if they are lamenting for her pain.
The dripping roof now does not heed,
it only works: to shed its tears.
The only window, falling apart,
suffers pain and screams till death.
Doors with their eyes shut
as visitors knock them no more.
In the corner; a lonely flower pot
with dried petals and silenced rebels.
No one cares for the chair,
That sways in the rhythm of agony.
There is no one to listen to the lady,
mute she stays, her unsolved problems, her pathetic heart, and its unheard cries.
Humming the tones of abnegation, it beats,
Not to live but to die!
