You still inhabit the stillness of the silence when you call upon me voicelessly.
Without saying a word, your pulse is able to stir the quietness,
and turns it into smooth waves of warmth and love.
The loving waves of your throbbing heart that surmount the intrinsic boundaries of space and time.
The loving waves of your pounding heart that overcomes the ingrained pains of the inexorable suffering.
The loving waves of your pulse that traverse the immanent limitation of the modest words.
The limited words that cannot quench the vast swathes of the years of thirst.
The humble words that cannot irrigate the empty spaces of the deserted emptiness.
The frivolous words that cannot fulfill the prolonged emotional unfulfillment.
When the throb of your heart stirs the quietness,
the inert melodies in the fabric of the dark nights start to move and dance,
and from the womb of the very darkness,
the newborn light starts to rearrange the black fabric into radiating rapturous melodies.
The pulse of your heart is able to order these rapturous melodies to be erected as lofty as the dreamy palaces.
The dreamy palaces that invade the black ceiling of the stillness of the silence.
The imposing palaces that rule the new kingdom of rapturous melodies when you call upon me voicelessly.