The caravan is slow, the travelers quiet.
The journey looms in a dreadful silence.

You want to speak but pronounce no words.
You see and pass like a vigilant, silent.

I sit in your path, cornered, dimmed;
Like a lonely lamp of the way, silent.

The house you had once inhabited
Now stands in the stillness of silence.

Strangers cross the lane, passing.
The doors and the walls stare, silent.

What loving people have risen from the globe.
What laughing houses snuffed to silence.

Is there someone the land waits for?
Who knows the reason for the city's silence.

The night is live, but the city slumbers.
There is a storm in the curtains, silent.

The ship is across but the journey remains.
There are whirlpools lurking, silent.

I do not fear the swell of the river.
But the sight on the banks makes me silent.

All the caravans are not yet home.
O travelers, do not sit silent.

Every moment cloaked a message.
But I have committed the crime of silence.