Poetry in silence

“Who are you?

He keeps repeating it.

That one question.

“Who are you?

I have no answer.

Or yet.

'I am a human soul,' I answer.

Again he asks.

“Who are you?

I have no answer.

Or yet...

'I am beyond you, I am beyond me, I am the undercurrent of all that is,' I answer.

I watch as he starts to get ready to ask his question again.

As if he cannot believe that I am present.

As if he cannot truly receive me.

“Who are you?

Sounds his voice.

A silence falls.

I no longer have an answer at hand.

Where the answer for me is pure silence.

I see him become silent.

And I experience how the question automatically receives its answer.