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did not come to you to talk about silence.

Life stirs and bubbles in me,
Bringing anxiety in my joy
And hope in my need.

I did not come to you to talk about silence.

The quietude of night and stars suffices me,
There are mute landscapes in my look.
And, deaf, I continue to dream.

I did not come to you to talk about silence.

Words know well my mazes.
Nothing arises without the obscure desire
Of shade disintegrating into the light.

I did not come to you to talk about silence.

It is implicit, for here am I, bare,
Before you, without artifices or magic,
Assuming myself in these words of love.

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