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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Blindfold for the Loud World”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
A pale room hums like a fridge after power fades. She stands in silence, ribbed in black. A curtained window keeps its beam in harbor. Green straps, woven like garden paths, cross and recross her brow—soft basket shade— cooling the face, muting the blaze. Outlines soften; sockets hum behind the paint, a radio turned low, just enough to ache. Blindfold for the loud world, hush for the bright. She builds her silence leaf by leaf. A garden grows behind the eyes, and every petal holds a sound— not shouted, but sung in scarlet light. Then red trumpets take the air at daybreak, small sirens test their pitch. Buds lean toward the measured shade, tilting into the hush of noon. She wears whole seasons in her crown: winter’s shadow, summer’s flare. Pollen-grief measured in grams, not pounds— you only feel it when the air turns bare. Mouth—still, lacquered with will. Trees drink in drought; she learns that skill. Seeing is loud; she edits with shade, hears the street through pressure and braid. Each flower reads her like a wire: a pulse, a whisper, a burning choir. Blindfold for the loud world—hymn against the glare. Now she wears her weather leaf by leaf. Garden, lit from the inside out, keeps time in petals and soft red vowels— a score the rumor cannot drown. She did not hide her gaze away. Daylight shone too loud for truth; she chose design. Silence needed a body to grow— so she built it in green, precise, soft as snow.
Lyrics
A pale room hums like a fridge after power fades She stands in silence, ribbed in black A lighthouse choosing not to shine Green straps woven like garden paths Crisscross her brow, soft basket shade Cooling the face, muting the blaze The world is sound without the shape A radio turned low—just enough to ache (Blindfold for the loud world, hush for the bright) She builds her silence leaf by leaf A garden grows behind the eyes (And every petal holds a sound) Not shouted, but sung in scarlet light Red trumpets bloom like taxi dawns Small sirens whispering their rights Buds wait like commuters in line Leaning into the hush of light She wears whole seasons in her crown Winter's shadow, summer’s flare Pollen-grief in grams, not pounds You only feel it when the air turns bare The mouth—still, lacquered with will Like trees that drink in drought and chill Seeing’s loud, so she edits with shade Hears the world through pressure and braid (Each flower reads her like a wire) A pulse, a whisper, a burning choir (Blindfold for the loud world, hush for the bright) She builds her silence leaf by leaf A garden grows behind the eyes (And every petal holds a sound) Not shouted, but sung in scarlet light Why did she hide her gaze away? Because rumour shines too loud by day Because silence needs a body to grow And she, blueprint-precise, let it show— Built it in green, soft as snow.
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