Its Time To Write Poetry Again..

Cocooned within walls of flowing silence,
Speaking a language sans words or sounds,
Writing words in an evanaescent script which left
Silent brushmarks on empty pages of the heart,
We have spent countless hours, my love,
While the clocks stood still, and the world forgot to turn.

Its time now for the white noise of life
To intrude in the silence shared by us,
Lest our silence bury our love,
Beneath a mound of syllables, unspoken, unheard.
Its time now for words to gurgle and swirl
And inundate the islands of loneliness,
Like a river swollen, in full spate, bursting forth.
Its time, my love, to write a poem again.

Let our love roll with a drumbeat of sounds,
The desperate cacaphony of chirping birds
Seeking a nest to rest their wings,
The ceaseless pitter patter of blinding rain
On a hard tin roof on a monsoon night,
The piercing whistle of a thundering train
Slicing the silence in the deep of the night,
The honking of horns, the swish of a plane,
The laughter of children, the tinkle of an anklet,
Steam hissing from a pot of freshly cooked rice,
The muted roar of a million hungry throats,
The splashing sweat from entwined limbs,
The incoherent grunts, muttered endearments,
A symphony of Mozart
Rising to a crescendo.....

.....Before falling silent forever again.