Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Yanamari Nov 2023
Loud and young
My voice rung
Free in its burdens
Overwhelmed in yearning

Loud and young
My voice blurred
Mixed and buried
In unsettling surroundings, unheard

Silent
Alone
Unmoving
Lost

Whisper scream
Moon for company
Burdens blur simmering
Over clawing emptiness

Slurred speech
Between few
You know
I know you

Like a poor man's stain glass art
Salvaging beauty in broken sentences
What sense would you tell me it would make
To break glass of different colour to make a singular beautiful piece
When that is all I have to work with,
Broken glass
And no glue to piece them
Trying to consciously choose words that are a little cryptic is my usual style, sometimes it takes more time and sometimes it comes naturally
Yanamari Oct 2023
I open my mouth and
No heads turn
What am I to do
If I can't be heard
Do I level mountains
Or raise waves?

It's not in my nature
It's not my way
I can't help my mellowness
I can't help my gentle sway

I want to be seen
Seen as me
Seen for what I can't show
For what I can't feel
Asking for what I don't have?
What I can't be
I'd rather die
Leave me be

So I hold it all in
The tumult and the fray
How could I ask for help
When when I open my mouth
No heads turn
And I'm left echoing into space
I often have an issue with people not hearing me when I talk. My voice is audible, my voice is clear, but for some reason it's as if I didn't speak at all. And so I wonder why that could be.
M E Ronan Dec 2020
In silence, in solitude
A line of people surround me
Perpetually faces protruding
Screams of turmoil falling on me
Like a pour of concrete
Permanently motions denied
Salvation lost in stillness
My existence feeding from it
Energy exuding from the hatred
Silence is lost on me
Too many talking
Cheap cynical laughter
No respite, no comfort
Lost my own voice within
annh Oct 2020
My tongue is tethered to the words which have failed me.
‘There's really no such thing as the 'voiceless'. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard.’
- Arundhati Roy
My throat closes

Every single time

When I want to speak or let myself be heard, I close

I let others speak for me. In whistling tunes I found through the Tube or stories as told by those who live them

I find it is not my time to speak.

For only when I am utmost alone can I even utter a single sigh and still it displeases me of its occurrence

Perhaps voiceless to allow others the space they might need to be themselves. So why am I upset of it

Meek and meager
Never there when you need her
Your silence is louder than a train wreck.
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2019
मान्छेहरु जब ढुङ्गा बन्छन्
उनीहरु ढुङ्गाकै संगत गर्छन्
मौन

मौन
पहाडहरुतिर हेर्छन
मानौ तिनै तिनका ऐना हुन्
जसले उनीहरुका
प्रश्न, प्रश्नकै रुपमा फर्काउँछ
उत्तर, उत्तरैको रुपमा फर्काउँछ
न तिनका पयर
न चक्षु
न तिनका आवाज
न पंख
न तिनका मुस्कान
न आँसु्

मौन
न कल्पनामा डुब्छन्
न ऋतुहरुभै रंग बदल्छन्
सायद ढुङ्गा बन्न सजिलो छ
मौन

हामी अगरबत्ती बालेरैपनि
कृतीम सुगन्ध उत्पति गछौ
जब हामी मान्छेलाइ खुसी पार्न सक्दैनौे
जब हामी मान्छेहरुलाइ सेवा गर्दा गर्दा थाक्छौ
अन्तिममा  हामी ढुङ्गा बन्छौ
मौन

मौन
ढुङ्गैको संगत गर्छौ
ढुङ्गैकै पुजा गर्छौ
शैली :अमूर्त
विषय :पत्थर
Author's Note:
If nothing to say, be silent
If no one hears, be silent
If silence speaks, be silent

If nothing matters, be silent
If silence calms, be silent
If silence heals, be silent

If silence wins, be silent
If silence is the start, be silent
If silence is the end, be silent

If silence is the answer, be silent
If silence is the only choice, be silent
If silence is the way of life, BE SILENT
When I begin writing a poem,
the tears, blood and sweat of  the innocent become my ink
and the bones become my pen.

When I begin writing a poem,
the voiceless become my thoughts and I become the words of the voiceless.

When I begin writing a poem,
I only stop when I find no more pen,
for the bones are gone to the soil ben
And when there's no more ink,
for the tears, blood and sweat are dried up when there's no more heat

When I begin writing a poem,
beyond myself do I think,
till every line makes a sense
and the message is clear and felt.

By Jibril Abdulmalik ©2019
ryn Mar 2019
.
What he didn’t say
with voice,
he spoke clearly
with tears
that never left

his eyes.


.
earlfangs Mar 2019
Curled up into a ball in the corner of the room,
Surrounded with nothing but bleak walls and the echoes of my breathe,
Staring out from behind the bars as I ignore the flickering light,
Hoping that a moment would come I could finally taste the freedom.

I couldn't remember how I got in this prison,
But the counts of my failed escapes are scarred on my body,
Every whisper is my shout, every tears are my untold wishes,
And every tick of the clock madness is feasting my mind.

Every move I make synchronizes with the sound of my chain,
Reminding me that my steps are counted as the walls around me,
Reaching out the bars, struggling to pass through them,
Yet all my endevours always go in vain.

The ghost of courage remains unseen and unheard,
Eyes on the laughing bars while I'm slowly shrinking,
As every strength fades into oblivion, this place turns into something worse,
For without a single sanity ever survived in a solitary confinement.

I am words left unspoken, unwillingly trapped in this place,
I am ashamed of how will I sound like to their ears,
Will I be accepted? Will I be rejected?
Will I be a curse or a blessing to the world?

I always try to blame others but it's me who trapped myself within these walls,
With no possible escapes I am willing to discover,
Loneliness is hunting me, holding the bow and arrow of despair,
But why? I'm just a voice longing to be heard.
Next page