A day of silence punctuated solely by ticks
Of seconds pouring out from my bird clock
Hanging by the marble staircase behind me
As I sit at my desk wallowing in solitude.
No giggling kids running around nor asking
Me destabilising questions always compelling me
To reach for the encyclopaedia as I strive
To get them accustomed to refer to its volumes,
As a sorcerer refers to ancient magic books.
The empty living room fills me with peace
I read and feel the energy of my concentration
Neatly discern the voices in my head, confused
In ponderations, trying to solve incomprehensible
Equations storing heat. I look outside the green
The pitiless sun painting it yellow, sucking up
Its vital lymph while my attention veers,
Captivated by sudden chirps, black dots in blue
Cloudless skies, I drink honey for my sore throat
Muffling sounds of distant tractors and lay
In soundlessness on the white sofa alone with me,
Overwhelmed by the most tranquil sensation
Only a feeling of transcendent gratitude can release.
[Featured painting: Quiet Thoughts by Mark Spain]