The Violated Silence
written by: Charlie Bottle
@CharlieBottle
Black velvet redwings balance
on cattail blades dancing in the wind,
on a bright sunny day, it sings to reflections
in rustling blue ponds tinged green,
a family of wren chicks and all,
add to the song of nature’s operatic calls,
the rush weaver in silence,
surveys the scene before wading in
to the pond, and harvesting cattails,
then drying them he twists them,
into rope working silently,
he occasionally whistles
and spools the rope,
then soaking the finished rope
so it is pliable
he weaves the base,
working one triangle
for each compass coordinate
until they meet in the center,
drying, it shrinks and becomes tight
enough, to bear the daintiest weight
of woman and child,
and a tired heavy farmhand
just home from a day in the fields.
In the silent ruins, it sat,
silent about the conversations
of all who sat, the secrets,
the gossip, the urgent instructions,
as it sat painted blue
surrounded by blue walls
all this before the war,
once the war came,
one day the walls and roofs
were blown by a stray missile,
the owners had earlier left
for the safety of distant places
where peace lived and thrived,
abandoned in silence it sat,
a testament to life, love,
song, family, friends, talks,
laughter and tears.
Silently forgotten, slowly falling apart,
never complaining of its mean estate
it sat until its tattered silence was violated,
by shuttering sounds of a metal iris,
and a mirror in darkness
winking at the light,
and its existence captured in
coded instructions to display
its beauty on a screen
and be printed on paper
or canvas or shown in an exhibition
titled “The Violated Silence”
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This a poem about a chair found in a ruin in Milan and displayed in an exhibition – Il silenzio violato – Photo Expo.
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