A silent roar

Words are becoming foreign landscapes to me, as the language of the sensuous beckons.

I yearn to hear a silent, circular chord that encompasses everything in existence.

One long note—

a sound, a cry,

a hum of eternity echoing inside the pulse of nothingness.

How I long to return to a time before words were etched,

before straight lines were drawn.

Instead, I wish to speak through circles and spirals,

to transmit the vibration of my heart through a cyclical soundscape

with no beginning, middle, or end.

I want to remember my illiteracy

and celebrate my forgetfulness.

I want to burn all books and erase the minds that carry the deep horrors unleashed when we confined timelessness within full stops and paragraphs.

I want to awaken my ears to the silent roar of every moment that has ever existed—the language of LIFE,

registered through the wings of a bird

and the cosmic echo of a black hole merging with itself as a bellowing singularity.

I long to whisper in color and scream in hues,

to activate my sonar self that feels the chatter of vibratory symphonies dancing between all forms.

I want to converse with the ancient voice of this world,

to speak with the one whose name is existence,

in a dialect sourced from within my body

and spoken as a spiral inside my unschooled heart.