Wednesday, January 4, 2012

The lost language

The lost language
You had Your chance
but, held Your peace –

perhaps, because only a handful
understood Your language.

Later, Your silence became Gautama’s flower; 
a sand grain, a moon and stars’ silence;

the noiseless marrow of our bones;
the pause between heartbeats;

the silence of the backs of our hands,
the napes of our necks –

a silence wrapped in dust; the kernel of the grain;
the hollowness in the horn of plenty.

You had Your chance to speak –
and Your Word flooded the planes,

reaching the smallest, most turbulent and severe
of all our dry places; sated the heart

and began our re-acquaintance
with the lost language of God. 

O child of God, His dialogue, is continuous and pervasive,
how could you ever feel beyond its range?                        


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