If a poem arises it is because the silence around it has started to speak
A long way from here someone is drawing a door in the sand
In a country’s imagination there are those
Trapped underground even in their desperation they cannot appear to us
In that same country if you look for them
There are those too troubled they are afraid to speak
The same for silence when it wants to speak
The easiest thing for it to do is that it finds for itself a personal tragedy
There are no easy or comfortable tragedies the same and same again
With the same there are no easy tragedies
Silence in the care of silence what can it do what
Can it do but that it shouts to those trapped underground
Even louder at the herds of animals passing through
A passing that seems to care nothing
It’s slight enough that they hear nothing of our deafening sounds
The invading armies despite themselves and those with ears
That they hear the forgiving and loving of receiving hands

Ronald Rae