The water is roaring over a little stream,
the ants are causing a noisy stampede.
The jets are passing noiselessly over the skyscrapers
while the people below complain with lips sealed shut.
It is not unusual, this routine grind.
When there is silence in my mind.
I hear the dead speak as I pass by graves,
their souls stirring noisily like the hustle of dry leaves.
The wind is blowing them beyond the gates,
to rescue the other souls from life.
It is pretty usual, this routine grind.
When there is silence in my mind.
Kids are playing hide and seek,
I see their parents playing it too.
The toddlers are being pushed to speak
while the youngsters’ mouths are sealed,
It is beginning to get a little unusual, this routine grind.
With silence in my mind.
Digital bodhi 