The Third Silence Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

I see two scales hanging in the air:
On one scale, silence of the sea. The other —
Silence of the desert. Someone must weigh them.
Their primeval weeping is my escort.

The needle pulls back and forth. So far,
Undecided which silence should weigh down.
Do not escape, my heart, stay a moment.
There is a third silence — eavesdrop:

It has borne life. It is immortal.
There is no sand not sown with its seed.
The shard-hunters kiss its shards, they call it
Death, but it has a different name.

At night, when the scales turn silver,
Glow blue with sea- and desert-silence, unheard,
The needle dozes off, no voice, no sound —
The third silence talks in her sleep. The third.

Eilat, June 1966