by Charlotte Adamson, with commentary from Srishti Kadu
I hear things,
Begging me to let them out.
Begging me to release them from their silent prison
yet I stay silent.
Watching as their bodies contort in pain.
Standing as they reach out at me through the solid bars.
Watching as they call my name in suffered tones,
I stay as silent as a saint.
I am no saint
I am nothing
I am Silence.
Silence is me.