The Lost Voice
Mirrors of the soul
Feel remorse
And clean up rapidly
Their swords
With hollow words: - “Hello”
- “Hello”
Some time, out of the empty hives of bees- their lips-
A greeting emerges out shivering
As if a numb chick
Or a ghost quivering
The ghosts of these greetings
Would be shielded by the corpse of the silence
And of course
I will leave this town
Towards strongly beating rivers
Which grasp the throat of weakness
With an openly shouted free roar of greetings
While the flood of the sound
Harshly beats against the cliffs
And their greetings would be heard
In the powerful arms of the vast valley
Where the thunder and darkness
Greet in the same horizon
With glowing heart
Away from mean timid souls
Away of corners of hypocrisy
Away from colorful doors
Two sided mirrors
The mirrors of the soul
Feel remorse.
Copyright © Maryam Musharraf | Year Posted 2017
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