“Heaven, envious of our joys, is waxen pale;
And when we whisper, then the stars fall down
To be partakers of our honey talk.”
(Christopher Marlowe, Dido, Queen of Carthage)
Some words are never spoken, but felt. Some feelings are never sensed, until stirred.
One cannot measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of words they exchange, but by the number of whispers they share. If whispers were the lyrics, silence was the music… making time spent together a melody that could be replayed over and over without getting stale.
The heart is not an organ, but a whisper in your soul. Two lovers, from two different realms of time, exchange glimpses of each other, through silent songs at every moonrise. A series of Haikus and two soulful tunes fictionalising a surreal romance:
The Nomadic Soliloquist 