Map of Silence

Silence learns to sing, slow as a winter evening
and its voice rocks the wall of faded noises
forgotten objects awaken, mute presence
transformed by that song into maps of memory.
Rusted keys open corridors of absent memories
a cracked cup points the route of lost words
the stopped clock marks the time when I return to myself
the chair creaks, leaving clear traces of melody.
Every object is a compass that whispers who I am
walking through fragrant dust of time and dreams
the voice, hidden, tries small notes in flight
until the throat opens like a rediscovered instrument.
Thus, following the maps, I find my scattered voice
the room becomes sea and the house its gulf
silence still sings, but now it serves me
and every object, found again, is a road home.