My Unspoken

The silent blow of words striking inside the mind—
Who could have known it would be so fierce?
So harsh, so tremor-awakening?

I hadn't thought then
of the sudden racing of the inner heart—
some words that strike with force,
wanting to pierce the mind's walls
and break free—is that why
all this restlessness, all this rebellion?

So I bound you in words, and me—
each mass of speech heavy with unspoken longing.
This way, for a while,
I keep this hungry soul at peace.

In the wake of created words, a strange torment—
melts in the heart,
takes shape in language's unwritten shrine.

That shape, that ache—
can only be spoken to the soul,
because these words are now—
my everything,
the unspoken shadow of my thoughts,
my only truth,
the refuge of my existence.

Writing and worldly life—
there's no conflict between them;
rather, I've reached such a state
where not writing
makes life itself agonizing!

At once, in imagination's endless rain—
with unexpected yearning
I enclosed you—
my creation,
the sound of my inner sky.