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An Eloquent Silence

A silence descends over us as we age. As we grow, we start classifying words as meaningless and purposeful. Those defined as meaningless, struggle hard to keep their dignity with feigned grace and feigned deafness as people call them names. Life breathes through those puerile words and they struggle hard to keep breathing. 

This struggle between adult meaningfulness and childish happy play continues till the time those meaningless words of vigor, hope and sensitivity start dying, alphabet by alphabet. We then, devoid of the brightness of those lovely words, stand in the gray, darkness with angry winds of silence bellowing with feral fury. We are left with wise words which descend far and between and even they loose relevance in a while and stop visiting. 

What you speak, what you write may not change the world, may not bring earth-shattering changes to your life. They do not exist to serve you. They are the butterflies on the sunny days to fill them with beauty and fireflies in the dark night to bring a sense of life into the dead of the night. Don't insist on the meaning of every word, do not search the purpose for them. Their beauty is their purpose. They are complete unto themselves. Speak to me softly my friend, for conversation must not die. It has been long since someone has asked me how I was and really meant it. My heart seeks that conversation as it unashamedly watches a phone which is as cold and as uncaring as the world. Give me some words. Give me a friend with whom even silence could be eloquent.

Literature and Reading

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