Some Translations of Silence

 
Today many moments pass in hesitation, in conflict, with trembling heart.
Yet there is no weariness in waiting.


When long humble yearning fails to bind with time
I understand quite well that I exist somewhere, perhaps,
not in complete rejection
but in acceptance and rejection both.


In truth I am then barely my own,
yet not at all inevitable, nothing of that sort.


I am not beloved in supreme serenity,
only something like what remains
somehow near diminishing values.


Beyond a word or two exchanged
our connection happens mostly in silence.
Can we truly feel
or translate each other's silences?


Again when someday I desire you,
I'll keep a thousand questions for myself—why do I desire you?
Not finding answers I'll become fugitive, vanishing somewhere.


Love will remain in the unmoving pin-drop stillness.
And in wordlessness.