Silence is alive in variegate forms:
in pre-dawn wakefulness,
broken only by the first bird,
in the quiet sadness following
the dissolution of a fight,
in the suspension of a meditation
against the pains of this life,
in the unkept moment of a
daydream looking out as all
of the crazy world shifts by,
in the still night with a book and
a thought and a nodding smile.

These, and all the other moments
of waiting, soundless with sound,
relaxed and tense, pregnant with
the build before a storm and after.

And thinking and not thinking at all,
in moments savoured for what they are not,
yes, these are the silences that
forms themselves in beacons
against the surging white
of the modern world.

 

4/11/2026