The Invention of Silence

By Sabyasachi Roy

The Invention of Silence

silence wasn’t always a thing.
someone had to invent it—
a monk, maybe,
or the first person to watch snow fall
without screaming.

now it’s everywhere:
in the gaps between text messages,
in the way you say “fine”
but mean something else.
it sits heavy as a winter coat
left on the back of a chair.

last night, I tried to fill it
with music—
the needle stuttering over a Beatles record
while the moon shrugged, unimpressed.
but silence is stubborn;
it spreads,
covering the room like a fresh coat of paint.

Izumi Ueda Yuu, Untitled (2025). Shibori-dye, collagraph, sculptural object, collage, 67x58x5 cm.
Image description: White paper with seams from being folded showing a central sculptual figure (shirt and trosers) against an abstract landscape of ink blots in greys and black.

Whale Song for Mother Earth

pin me under your sticky summer nights,
blow off the autumn crumbs
like they owe you rent.
tell the trees to stop begging
and dig deep. pull up
that underground liquor stash,
string it into fruit bombs,
red-ripe, swinging heavy—
a chandelier of what-the-hell-have-we-done.

whisper to the sparrows:
sharpen your beaks, kids,
the Earth’s for sale, piece by piece,
one auctioned breath at a time. 

Izumi Ueda Yuu, Mother (2023-25). Gouache on paper, 82x60.8 cm.
Image description: Predominantly dark green painting of a woman, her pinkish face wirh gritted teeth, her torso of Ultramarine blue striations with a garland of green leaves at her waste and a high-heeled show to her right.  

The Physics of Falling

at this speed, the Earth is silent,
spinning like a drunk dancer
who hasn’t figured out balance.
we keep pace by pretending
we aren’t moving at all—
small rebellions stitched into stillness.

you tripped once, I remember,
on a street where gravity felt heavier.
“just the earth pulling its share,”
you said, brushing off the dirt
like it was an old friend.

the news today is a bad joke:
fire-storms carrying the names
of people we’ve forgotten,
buildings collapsing into metaphors
no one wants to explain

Izumi Ueda Yuu, Primavera (2024). Gouache, pulp painting, collage, 62x45 cm.
Image description: Two clenched fists outlined in bright reddish-pink, wrists daubed with many colors, black seeds falling as they escape from the fingers. 

---

Sabyasachi Roy (he/him) is a poet from West Bengal, India. His poetry has been published in Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review, Quintessence, Dicey Brown, Mindfire Renewed, The Potomac, 13th Warrior, and several print and online magazines.

*

Izumi Ueda Yuu is a Japanese-born visual artist who lives and works in Lisbon. Yuu attended Kuwasawa Design School in Tokyo and received her BFA in sculpture from Maryland Institute College of Art. Yuu has had solo exhibitions at Museu do Oriente and Sociedade Nacional de Belas Artes, both in Lisbon. Recently shortlisted for the 2025 Sovereign Portuguese Art Prize, Yuu was a 2019 finalist for the Luxembourg Art Prize and a two-time recipient of the Maryland State Arts Council grant for individual artists. She has been an artist in residence at Foundation OBRAS (Portugal), OBRAS-Holland, Atelier Outotsu (Osaka), and Awagami Factory (Yoshinogawa).

---