Tuesday, November 3, 2015

The Growing Silence

The poems of this phase have been the best I’ve ever written. When my friends urge me to share it with them, I tell them they are too precious and sacred to be out in the open in the wild and callous world of internet. They need a heart as divine as they deserve, to carefully and gently place them on pages of a book with a gorgeous cover and a soul, for not any page shall understand their worth and not any cover shall envelop its existence.

At times when words fail, the rivers bleed with pain and  anguish, that is, for them to bear and for words to witness. The words sit by the river and simply try to be ‘present’; that’s all they can do. They feel helpless for being unable to extract the hydrogen from the oxygen, as the two have been intertwined for life. The words cringe, wince. They try to cry but nothing compares to the bleeding river. The words have a voice which the river doesn’t. The river hopes to turn its colours from black to red that it originally possessed. As goes for the words, to the outside world, they have only turned more graceful, poignant and charming as ever. Their magic makes people swoon and their effect stays like a lasting fragrance.

Between the spaces of the words and the river lies an abyss of great depth and silence. The Silence is exploring its own existence in its nascent birth. Ever since it stepped into this world, the cries have been shrilly and extremely painful to bear. At times, she simply sobs to sleep. On other times, there are sudden bursts of agony making her feel death was near. Yet the river would bleed from her eyes and she would still exist in an existence which felt nothing but absent. 

The silence has matured with time.  She’s growing.  She has begun to breathe with her own lungs. Her wisdom has given life to words. Times change: for a silence which was overbearing for her own self, she has begun to add beauty to others lives. As they thank her, she lives a little more. She lives for all that is yet to come and unravel itself in the most magnificent ways. She lives, with herself.

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