The word not spoken
goes not quite unheard.
It lingers in the eye,
in the semi-arch of brow.
A gesture of the hand
speaks pages more than words.
The echo rests in the heart
as driftwood does in sand,
to be rubbed by time
until it rots or shines.
The word not spoken
touches us as music
does the mind.
無(wú)聲的語(yǔ)言,
并非完全聽(tīng)不見(jiàn)。
它蕩漾在眼波里,
表露在眉宇間。
一個(gè)心照不宣的手勢(shì),
勝過(guò)萬(wàn)語(yǔ)千言。
縈繞心靈的回音,
好像浮木浪跡于沙灘,
隨著歲月的消磨,
不是燃燒,就是腐爛。
無(wú)聲的語(yǔ)言,
觸及我們的情感,
恰似有聲的音樂(lè),
撥動(dòng)人們的心弦。