A poem
For the profoundly deaf,
language is a dance of hands and eyes,
a symphony not of sound, but of motion,
fingers fluttering, bodies swaying,
expressions alighting with each word.
The rush of wind, the crash of waves,
the birdsong that fills the air,
these are foreign, distant things,
encased in a veil of silence.
Yet, there is a richness,
a depth of perception that shades
the limitations of the hearing.
Senses heighten, awareness expands,
as the world is filtered through
the optics of the silent tongue.
The deaf move through life
with a graceful, unhurried cadence,
attuned to the subtle vibrations,
the slight tremors that betray
the ebb and flow of the unseen.
For them, sound is not the measure
of connection, of understanding,
it is the meeting of gazes, the gentle
touch, the shared rhythm of thought
that bridges the divide.
So they listen, not with ears, but with
the whole of their being, embracing
a silence that is not empty, but rich
with the music of a different cadence,
a soundless symphony all their own.
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