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