Rings of ash

"They are my voices chanting
for those don´t chant,
the grayly gagged on the dawn,
those who dress like bleak birds in the rain.

There is, on waiting,
a rumour of lilac breaking.
An there is, when day comes,
a division of the sun in little black suns.
And when it is night, always,
a tribe of maimed words
look for shelter in my throat
for those don´t chant
the baleful, the owners of silence."
-Alejandra Pizarnik