The Silent Room,
Where the slightest noise can be heard:
I hear the soft rustles of notebook paper,
And my pen writing down this poem;
I hear the soft whispers of restless students,
Who are trying hard not to speak,
The noises of people moving around,
In their seats to be in a more suitable position;
I listen to the quiet breathing of myself,
But cannot hear that of those around me.
And although our teacher has said to be silent,
And the room appears to be that way,
I know it is far from quiet,
Because everyone is making noises,
In one way or another.