Listen to poem:
The Engraved Silence
The Engraved Silence
I was born in the obscure,
where light had not yet been imagined.
The wind spoke in spirals,
and my gestures searched for answers
in the shimmer of water,
in the curve of stone.
I saw forms dancing on the walls—
not as prey,
but as fleeing thoughts.
Each spark in the sky was a question
suspended,
woven silently by my gaze.
I did not paint to remember—
I painted to understand.
Each stroke a whispered thought,
each pigment a fragile hypothesis.
The world is harsh, yes.
But beauty slips through it,
like a vein of gold
in fractured rock.
And I, a pre-human thinker,
engrave not what I see,
but what I dream
others might one day understand.
For to transmit
is to give wings to fire
we never fully possess.
Joel Charvillat.
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