THE SILENCE THAT SPEAKS
A small grey heartbeat
soft, still, sacred
waiting where walls
whisper my name.
You do not follow time,
you follow me
through echoes of steps,
through the rhythm of return.
And when I arrive
you fall into me
like light learning dawn,
like a prayer becoming heard.
You wait
and I become home.
Who carved this knowing
into your quiet soul?
What unseen hand
taught you love without language?
Each morning
before the sun stirs,
before the sky remembers blue
you stand beside my sleep,
a silent sentinel of breath.
Unmoving unwavering
until my eyes awaken
into your world.
You wait
and I become home.
O gentle miracle,
you turn dust into devotion,
seconds into sanctuaries
ordinary into holy.
Perhaps you are not sent
perhaps you are mercy itself,
a living metaphor
wrapped in warmth and wonder.
You never ask,
never ache for more,
never measure love
in the language of need.
Even when I was breaking
when pain had no pulse,
no poetry
you pressed your presence to mine,
and silence began to sing.
You wait
and I become home.
Tell me
what shall I call you?
When names collapse,
and meanings fall short
when “animal” is too small,
and “love” is too light
to hold your weight.
Now you tremble
and I learn your waiting,
step by restless step,
breath by borrowed breath.
I sit beside your silence,
sewing hope into stillness,
listening
learning
your language of being.
And then
a movement
a murmur
a miracle
and the universe
unfolds inside my chest.
You wait
and I become home.
This is no fleeting feeling,
no fragile thread of time
this is something deeper,
something death cannot divide.
One day
we will dissolve
into dust and distance
but this
this love
will linger
like light in forgotten rooms,
like echoes that refuse endings,
like silence
that still
speaks.
©️ Shahid Abbas
Pakistan
