Chanting

Mere harps are wringing and voices are chanting,
Forever I stare at silence through the eyes of tears.
Silence is a sale of devices,
The very beautiful sides to our abilities.
Tears are made to weep,
And tears bleed from the face like a wound.
Ten minutes of weeping is in our day
Followed by a clumsy voice from my mother
Saying how might I develop the music of my living.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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