She knows her silence has no human face,
and yet she hears it speaking, clear as day,
inside her study – more a window than a place
its words are small but nimble as they sway.
Nothing like the honey-bulbous sounds
that ooze from friends outside who laugh and jest,
nothing like the syrup making rounds
of nocturnal speech as they escape the nest.
Behind the frosted glass, it lingers, still,
and crouching as though bearing some great weight.
The powder-smell of springtime daffodil
is undecided between love and hate.
For if we want to be a silent stone,
we realise we must do it all alone.
Author's Note: Questions for reviewers!
1. What do you think of the imagery (mainly sensory descriptions like sight, sound, smell, etc.)? Are there any contrasting parts you notice?
2. How vague or cryptic is this poem?
3. What do you think of the change from “she” to “we”?
4. Is it clear that Silence is meant to be the central figure of the poem, almost like a personification?