the longest silence

the month we stopped speaking
the birds stopped chirping
their beaks scrape sadness into the
trees in my backyard
the month of march on the wall calendar
is a parade of empty squares
and meaningless appointments
our kisses could have cured
a hundred vacant hours
do you remember how effortlessly
my body curled into yours
and kisses came like exhales
or do you remember it all
as a poorly-rehearsed play
with bad actors and sets

Quiet

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.

Life is what it is about...

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

- pablo neruda