I wake up in silence.

How strange.

Silence doesn’t always have a colour as such,

But it does have a feeling to it.

I’m used to heaviness, near dullness.

That’s a grey silence, if you will.

Hard to see through, hard to makesenseof.

Words and images just behind the grey.

That’s an oppressive quiet,

It’s usually caused by too much media,

(My human is kind of stupid),

And results in too large a headache.

(Stupid human, reinforced).


This is different.


I stick my tongue o-u-t,

Waggle it about,

Maybe I can taste it, this silence.

It’s airy, I suppose.


This silence is e    x    p    a    n    s    i     v   e, freeing

I not only see through it,

I see with it.

The silence in here makes the outside world louder, clearer,



Say something,

My human says.

Hello, I try.

Something meaner, something sure to elicit a reaction.

I say something, shout it.

The words don’t echo the way they usually do,

Bouncing off in the strangest angles,

Coming back each time, reinforced,

More hurtful.

Nor do they sit there,

Growing until they could be painted in emotion.


They float around.

up   till they f l o a t away ~






The silence is still there.


I’m used to the rumble of worries,

A background noise, with occasional honks and jarring screeches.

I’m used to the churning of analysis,

Replayed scenes, scenes reviewed.

I’m used to the anticipated reactions,

Imagined futures,

Voices, images, flushes of emotion.

But this,

This is different.


This is silence.



Dread would pass by,

Seizing the heart for just a moment,

In knowing this too shall pass.

How scared this human is,

Of losing what it has,

Of losing everything.

But this silence treats Dread differently,

As welcome as love, or happiness,

Just a wave and he walks on.


This silence tells my human what it really wants,

Shows it how things truly are,

We are closer than ever before,

My human and I,

I am its awareness, after all,

And right now,

It’s almost as though

We are one.


Poet’s Note: So in case this confused you, have you realised we have two voices inside our head? One is the one we use while reading to ourselves, our own voice that we control, and the other is the mind, the never ending train of thoughts that is often so subtle it goes unnoticed.

So Mindfulness and meditation is all about becoming quiet and being aware, and this is basically what I’ve tried to capture. How the first voice inside our heads – our awareness, I suppose – can finally see the world and be at peace because the background noise has stopped, if only for the present moment.

After all, it is the present that matters most.



As a lion prides itself on its roar,

So it is with an Indian man and his sneeze.

For the lion might lose its mane,

Until it is thin and greying,

And he may lose his agility,

But his roar will still thunder the plains.

And it so with the man,

As aches replace his joints,

Wrinkles replace his cheeks,

And his hair continuously surrenders to gravity,

His bodily sounds remain the sole indicator of his power.

Each sneeze is not the expelling of a nosey itch,

But a declaration to the world,

No burp can be emitted until it is a belch,

Loud and proud.

And as the birds are startled off the branches they slept in,

As gazelles spring away from the roar,

So the family of the Indian man is shocked by the sneeze,

Whipping heads,

Jumping figures,

And as the lion only sweeps his wise gaze over the plain after his declaration,

Padding back to his pride,

The Indian man shall only look up,

Adjust his half moon spectacles,

And return to the paper he was reading

As though nothing happened at all.