Not Knot Naught

If language does not breathe,

it is merely thought. If it does,

it lucidly ambles through today's testimony,

translating the non-verbal trance of hours,

to the texture of pure poetry. This book is a quiet pool of water,

that only your swimming through,

can beautifully ruin to waves. It does not dance around the equations,

mimicking a math that almost moans.

But instead eavesdrops on a heartbeat,

celebrating its cardiogram like calligraphy. Stories blow through it, like seasons,

of which, characters witness the weather.

Yet it too remains a timeless dialogue,

that matures insightfulness into wisdom. Wherever impermanence is law,

a voice like mine, arises, singing.

And then it passes away again,

like sunset, into colors.