A pause hangs in the air
like poison gas.
It threatens to devour
more moments:
good moments,
sacred moments,
moments that could've been something.
It envelops all,
encasing minds in psychic concrete,
entombing thoughts so hushly
that not even the thinker can hear them.
Through the ear-ringing hours,
nothing is said
&
nothing is heard --
not a word or a scream
or unsolicited fashion advice --
nothing but the high tone
that slits through silence.
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the !n(tro)verted yogi 
Is there a word like hushly? Or is it poetic licence?
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No. Yes [poetic license]
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Beautiful lines conveying everything that happens between.
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Thanks
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Those last two lines are so good. I really love this poem.
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Thank you very much
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