Would you try to catch & make Every fluttering thought your Bible, In your craving To come face to face With that one thought Which would have the answer To what is the question, That has gnawed at you since birth. What if you bumped against Hitherto infrasonic tremors Of a morbid sigh or curse, While hoping to tune into A blessing or yearning,
Would you consider yourself The ****** of the Panopticon Or a prisoner of it?
Would the nail-biting curiosity Of groping the trail Of fragmented thoughts From all (how many?) corners Make you lose your own 'stream of consciousness', as they would call it? Deaf now to your own mental utterances Would you (n)ever speak again? [Since, Your eavesdropping mind Would already know What the other has to say As would he, about your thoughts Before either uttered the first syllable.]
Or, Would you start thinking About what to think first And what order to place those thoughts in, next, So you could fool your mental trespasser, Sending him off to a parallel trail of thoughts? But of course he would be able to Hear through your strategy As he would also know Of that moment When you decided to Guard your own thoughts. But the question is, Do you have any left, now?
A numb stare is reflected In your mental neighbour's eyes As you both confront The fact that *Deaf people don't have Songs stuck in their head.