The Beginning of Silence

"The Beginning of Silence"

Nowhere (in the nowhere-land of silence)

and in a time before color,

a red dream curled into itself.

A wordless mouth,

swallowing earth into itself,

wanders—

not in search of answers,

but to forget the question.

In the searing ring of emptiness,

there is neither earth nor fire,

only the memory of a flame

that never came.

"The Fall of Lines of Light"

These unfinished lines,

falling from lost skies,

in the cold corner of the earth,

soundless and unknown.

Each line—

a tale of a fragment of time

escaped from every past moment

and now falling.

The gaze

remains lost in those lines—

with no hope for a celestial hymn,

no grief for a withered earth.

Only

the harsh silence of falling.

This fall—

a dance that moves neither forward

nor back,

only sways

within the blind borders of its moment.

"The Soundless Sleep"

Everything

has dissolved into itself—

no light,

no pit,

only the thin skin of a world

stretched over the bones of void.

Names have slipped,

spilled into memoryless air.

The world,

like a lost word

in the paper-mouth of a burned book,

continues in silence.

You are not.

Nor am I.

But something

still pulses—

in a silence

that is neither life,

nor death.

"The Timelessness of Crimson Words"

A layered silence

casts itself on an impossible ray—

a nameless pit,

where there is

neither sound, nor soil,

only the lust for a collapsed light

in sleepless circles of heat.

The fivefold chain of descent,

broken on the garment of darkness,

the gestures of ownerless fingers,

reaching nowhere

but the presence of shadow.

Name?

There is none.

Meaning?

A trembling, incomplete presence.

The world

is a scorched page—

yet still,

the scent of its ash remains.

"Echo of the First and Last Layer"

In the depth of that namelessness

upon which the first color breathed,

there was no beginning,

no end—

only the curve and arch of an ember

that did not know itself.

Forgotten lines,

like fingers of light

drawn across the body of darkness,

without ever scratching a surface. ...

Beharré Zarabie

(Part of the poem)