Silence seems to be the only language I know
I speak it loud, laced with goad like a squawking crow
The words that would escape hang low from my lips
Like fruit from a branch, it dangles at the tips
It would sway temptingly but would never fall
I reach from below but it's no use at all
If my words would come easy like water from a brook
I'd nurture the sounds and call for the song that I took
Now, the tree would grow higher and higher climbing the skies
While I linger here, still on the ground, with tears in my eyes
