Saturday

[5]Ocean of Sound






                                              I am amid the ocean of sound,
                                              sharp noises are encircling around,
                                              pain, grief, cry, and shrill music,
                                              the thunder comes and comes around.

                                             An uttering cry for God is everywhere,
                                             as if He may be dumb and deaf,
                                             drums are beaten to call him,
                                             if he listens, He has no relief.

                                             Warfare is silence-zone of death,
                                              bombs and bullets echo the sky,
                                             space is filled with piercing cry,
                                             and cry for peace is equally high.

                                            Joy and happiness has extreme pitch,
                                             life is fast and music too
                                             sound frequency melts the ears,
                                             entertainment is a noisy zoo.

                                            In between, I get a moment of silence,
                                             in a lonely corner of one street,
                                            there is a mummer coming from inside
                                            O! it is my own heart-beat.

                                            No sound of the world is so lovely,
                                            if it is one's own heart-beat,
                                            but nobody has time to listen to himself,
                                             nobody is ready for the self-meet.

                                             I am terrified to peep inside me,
                                              horror is to listen to own heart-beat,
                                              that beloved mummer is a question-mark,
                                              back to ocean of sound; I run to the street.
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