Where the rest is

midnight -
bells without clappers toll soundless in my head,
echoing the call: "Come, let us go to the house of the Lord,"
where in the company of fellow deaf-mutes,
to strike my chest: "vanity, vanity, vanity am I,"
but it rings trite and devoid of meaning -
here in the quiet of my chapel,
where a gentle breeze from outside
makes the candles flicker,
while the bells, rhythmically sway in silence,
calling to all who are weary.