As a mobile phone begins to vibrate
the fish go about their business in a ghostly dance
unaware of the signals being sent. They are
surrounded by an abyss of hallowed darkness.
They survive in perpetual motion; trills, reverberations,
fluctuations, and wiggling spines maneuvering
through a salty universe of liquid pitch. Among their
presence lies a spy constantly awake.
A hidden eel, with its intricate weaving of wires
and mesh, an intertwined spaghetti of fibre optics,
that delivers the finite elements of human emotions
across the ocean and into opposing worlds.
This back bone of communication carries the continual
whispers and murmurs of desires, images and revelations
at high speed intervals. Its secrets shrouded in
those quiet, icy depths. An apparition is eavesdropping
though, floating in deep indigo and cobalt,
he is illuminated in real-time by tiny
stars of plankton- silver streams of light,
jutting through torn curtains illuminating his show.
This is his portable stage where he sings his songs
to an empty audience day after day.
He steals their secrets to compose his ballads.
The constant chatter and crackle of noise that
travels in that subterranean
network is the source of his inspiration.
His lonely blues at its 52 Hertz, reveal
the ills and wants of the world. He croons away
in hopes that some entity will eventually answer
his call giving his voice a platform before it's too late.
Instead, there is only silence on the other end of the line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem