There used to be a time when bodiesdid the talking. An eyebrow raised
in queries above noises, a finger
rubbing peace to the small of one's back,
lips pressed to grief galore,
an embrace that melts all doubts.
The wordless worlds we pass through
in silent ritualistic heavings leave us
cold. We refuse to see or listen
to the needs of mindbodysoul flailing
helpless limbs in the void. Time to
stop blaming the things we built
and think of the hands that lost
the magic. Or, let us just lie
facing each other like fish out of water
shaking life out in loveless sighs.
1 comment:
This poem brings to mind an age in the evolution of Man before words were invented and speech conceived. We used body language then. Consider the Indian manner of blessing younger people: the older person places the palm of his hand on the youngster's head even as the youngster stoops to touch the older person's feet. This is so typically Indian and so evocative compared to the Westerner's way of giving blessings: they use just words, insincere words, which do not reflect the elder's true feelings. Great poem, Jose.
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