The Silence of a Mountain
A Poem By SPureRuh | Art & Culture | The WFY Magazine, January, 2026 Anniversary Edition
I am the mountain
you used like breath.
There was so much noise
that I was forced to speak.
The trees that grew on me —
were they not my children?
I was broken
for jewels and ornaments,
for air sold in the name of money.
Stones were placed on my grave
and called decoration.
My voice lived
in trees, animals, and birds.
You silenced it.
You mixed poison into the air,
planted trees in sand,
and broke mountains for stone.
Then you spoke of morality.
Who is responsible —
the one who asks,
or the one who stands on stages
and teaches silence as motivation?
A mountain
that once housed pure breath
is quiet now —
having lost its height,
having lost its children.
And somewhere,
pockets are growing heavier,
houses are being decorated.
Now there are machines —
after they leave,
the smell of diesel remains.
SPureRuh
