pa·ren·the·ses of deep silence.

my mother couldn’t use similes

to describe silence in her days

so when she tried to teach me

how not to be an introvert like

a barn owl in soft hooting

with broken wings in a castle

that’s my body,

she failed the litmus test

of verbal communication,

since, I, her microphonic_son

was used to reading the endless

lists of father’s laws & instruction.

beside me silence echoes

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!”

it bears an unkind rhythm, only

a son, like me, would understand

what it means when silence

clamps to the body in a way that

shadow & voice are not felt,

even so_if I was to learn how to

unlock my lips like a zip & breathe

air to my silence, it’ll still find a way

to crawl into a cave of fetters,

to process unspeakable words,

to plaster, fold, cast & mask, the

foundation layout _remind me again,

what’s the measurement of granite

& sands for building a parliament

where silence would dwell?

I need to build, I need to build

the things mum couldn’t say

nor imagine into this poem,

each broken letter of

similes she couldn’t assemble;

each tear_distiller, lips_blunder,

for some death & silence there is no autopsy,

her silence too knows

where my lips are,

catches me babbling at 2 am.

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