They say the things that finally break you, Are the words stuck in your throat. And she has years of thoughts not uttered, Crammed in the pockets of her coat. A whispher among a word, That’s learnt only to speak. Where silence must be broken, For the proof that is weak. But wherein lies the weakness, Of keeping words held in your hands? When others listen just to reply, She listens just to understand. Surely its strength when things unspoken, Fill the room upto the brim, And she’s the only one among them, Who has taught herself to swim!!
A silence on the night. The day fluttered quietly in whisper soft resonance, So many colours slowly dying Like confetti in the rain, And echoes touched each other, a reunion of themselves, As though they were astounded At their resonating
Do I have a choice before knifing the page for a meaning, when I was drowned in a nostalgia? Cinchona bark. This was my keyword for living bitterly under a tryant inciting the riots of colors. The digital death comes
It’s here, and then it’s not. That untimely moment that we fear our minds have just ‘forgot’ who we are, and why we’re here. Why did we never reach that bar? We’re no longer our own puppateer. In the past
I chose silence not because I didn’t have an opinion. I chose silence not because I didn’t have thoughts. I chose silence not because I couldn’t express my feelings. I chose it… because that’s the only option I had! I