Among the voices
soft, sonorous,
hoarse and high pitched,
that have come out
breaking apart the gigantic cement walls,
I know my voice is also present.
The voice of the creek running down the hills
is mumbling away.
The voices of the mighty vehicles on the road
are elbowing each other.
The voice of the airplane high in the sky
is proud of its height.
The voice of the factory machine
is jabbering something loud.
Melody of the chirping birds,
animals’ voices
the shrill voices of cicadas at night
are present like charming dames.
At the assembly,
present are also the subtle voices
arisen out of the tiny motion from the rest.
Bellyful content voices,
hungry, shrunken voices,
and timeless voices of art too
have taken their places.
At the assembly of voices,
some loud voices are surging like waves.
I know my voice is also among them.
But I am struggling desperately
to know
which one is my voice?
Which one is my own voice?
