If you speak not I will, with patience, fill ears
with your silence; I will keep still enduring
your speechlessness in heart, wait like a night
with starry vigil, her head bent low.
Morning surely will come, darkness vanish with
your voice pouring down from sky in golden streams,
your words, then, will take wings in songs of birds,
and melodies breaking from every flower in the forest.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 19
Henry Victor 27.09.2012
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