home by comparison

it’s not silent in the silence

hear, there — the time passing by

like sitting on a bench seat,

by the side of some street,

and past go all the cars, with their people

inside, with their souls inside,

with each their own personal glories

inside, in little pictures —

like little pictures borne all away on one breath of wind.

only one wind, which only sometimes

is faintly heard among all the noise,

noise that goes past and past and past

and never goes away,

and no one hears the resounding of it

or the one breath of wind —

but here it is silence,

with noises inside,

with silence inside the sounds.