to us

who were

of necessary birth

for the earths hard

and thankless toil

silence has no meaning there is never a feeling

of tranquility

or mere quietness

never a moment

of soundless calm

from within or without

our troubled selves how can the clamor

of sounds be stilled?

there is no void where

noices can collect

and be made mute

[ ] how indeed

can there be silence when our hearts beat out

a sonorous beat

meeting the beating drums

of an african past

when our eyes shed

solid tears of iron blood

that falls on concrete ground inside our ears

are the many wailing cries

of mysery

inside our bodies

the internal bleeding

of [ ] volcanos

inside our heads

the wrapped in thoughts

of rebellion how can there be calm

when the storm is yet to come? this unending silence

taut, impervious, unbending

not lending an ear

to the most delicate of sounds

awaits the blast of bombs

which man will explode

to break this silent bond

to [ ]

to the use to create

hills of soft obedience

where sweet-clothed sounds

can rebound

and their echoes glide

like a carefree bird

in rythmic calm

to a mellow

pure, silent space