You keep quiet and I will go and so I go.
My twelve will be counted under my cap.
We speak in no languages and gestures.
Our arms will not be raised to the wind
And they will make no noises to the sky.
There will be no green wars, blue wars.
Our mustards shall splutter in our curry,
Just a little noise for peaceful stomachs.
We speak in no colors ,lack and no color
White and all color , blue sky of rainbow.
We speak Neruda of love,under felt cap.
Actually we speak nothing, just ceasura.
After he goes and we go there be noise
And arms will be raised and make noise
As there will be no one to count twelve.
(remembering the beautiful poem Keeping Quiet by Pablo Neruda)