The Roar of the Silent Diamond
The Roar of the Silent Diamond
The silence stretched like an ocean suspended in veins screams my blood,
a crystal roar that grows from the depths of my blind-hearing ears,
but beyond the red beats of the heart that stomps in burning temples,
there exists a roar vaster than the air—the mystery that hisses shhh eternally.
The diamond of wisdom roars in its silence of living transparent stone,
a voice without voice that breaks eardrums with gentleness of rough velvet,
louder than my own blood that boils in arteries like sweet lava,
this mute roar of the full nothingness reminds me of something forgotten long ago.
Something I lost in the stress of days that flow since birth,
a knowledge swallowed by the weariness of breathing always in the same rhythm,
a secret buried beneath the layers of noise that cover my existence,
and the intense silence becomes a window toward what I have never been.
My blood roars like an underground train through tunnels of bone and flesh,
but the roar of silence is vaster—it's the ocean in which the train swims blind,
this cosmic shhh that rocks me in its arms like a lost child,
calls me back to the beginning where there were no words only pure breath.
The diamond of wisdom doesn't speak—it roars in invisible frequencies,
an explosion of white light that compresses into the zero point of silence,
and I listen with my ears turned inside out toward the interior of my own abyss,
where my blood becomes the echo of silence that births me anew always.
The stress of days since birth covers my memory with thick dust of forgetting,
but this mute roar pierces everything—it's the cold fire that melts the walls,
the mysterious shhh that reminds me I was once part of silence,
before noise before words before me and before world and before everything.
The silence so intense that you become its sound—the vibration without frequency,
your blood is no longer yours—it's just a note in the unseen symphony,
and the roar of the diamond of wisdom washes you of all false memories,
leaves you naked and clean like white paper on which silence writes with star ink.
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