A quietude that speaks incoherent ....

A pause

like a forlorn deserted noon,

a silence

striving to balance tricky over a gorge,

palpable,

its echo resounding,

weighing heavy on daily chores.

A feel, so profound with a suppressed dream,

a strange stillness reigns,

waiting in deathlike calm,

mute as desert, in a tensed apprehension

for a bizarre rainstorm to surge.

As if a long elapsed hope

might start flapping its wings back and forth;

as if the mind suddenly will get limbs

and start its ballerina - maneuvers;

Even the sky gets weary of an unleashed oomph

of a quietitude that prevails,

saying nonstop
an wild bohemian song.