I’m not very fond of speaking. If I speak out loud, I’ll have to say what I mean. I’ll have to rummage around for the correct word. I wait for the end of the sentence more than the yearning of its last word to be heard. When I speak, I hear Silence clamour out loud that I’m trying to drown it. That’s a crime against a friend so dear. Silence is silence only for the deaf. For me, it’s a vast open meadow, where even the minute wisps of air conjure to be unvoiced and conspire to let Silence be heard; to be heard by the mind, the senses, rather than the ears... Have you ever felt nothingness? So light that you feel the air beneath you? There’s no better feeling than of being carried around by oblivion. A float. A drift. A glide. A surrender! My messages to you don’t need man-made words to be delivered. Come and sit by me, brother. The world, in all its words, is already very comical... And you, if I open my lips, will you take it as an invitation? If I open my lips will you step inside and take residence? Must I keep opening my lips so that I can also show you the way out?
Posted on: Tue, 06 Aug 2013 22:13:55 +0000
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