Non-Violence

tongues speak
a language
that's foreign
to the wild,
where everything rests
because of and
in everything else,
where a silent web shudders
at the slightest touch of a breeze.

so speak if you must,
but do not make those words
your mantra, your shield,
do not let them
grow roots over you,
for they are just pegs
on an insipid clothesline,
not quivering dewdrops
suspended in silk
drawn out from the gut.

and when you speak,
speak of violence first
as you know it
deep in your bones,
feel the stars exploding
and then collapsing,
feel the wind splinter
ancient boulders,
feel the waves whip up
the sand and cut the shore,
feel the fire throw out its tongue
to swallow the earth whole,

speak then,
when you've seen yourself,
when you know you haven't
unwittingly swatted
a mosquito drawing blood,
speak when you know
you haven't squashed an ant
with a step you chose to take
with utmost care,
speak when you know
you haven't whipped yourself
with your own harshness,
speak when you know
you haven't cut off the cord
that brought your child into this world.
speak then,
of non-violence,
and then perhaps,
I will listen to you.