What is changed by making marks,
or by holding the ink inside?
I am not hungry.
I am not poor.
It is older than choice—
this returning to paper,
known or unknown.
It is my climate.
But sometimes, from a distant city,
another keeper of silence
will signal through the noise
and repeat the old, necessary question:
What quiet engine in the chest
manufactures, without market or need,
this surplus of untranslated sound?
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Author:
Mottakeenur Rehman (
Offline) - Published: December 24th, 2025 04:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments1
I particularly love the last three lines in this poem they ring true and are most identifiable. Happy holidays to you my friend
Thanks a lot for your kind words💙💝🙏🙏
You are most welcome Mottakeenur
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