The Voice of Silence

Listen to this silence. It conveys so much.

Things that are tough to say; things that cannot be said.

It roars like a storm in front of my senses.

It tells you the story of an ancient curse roaming in the corridors of love.

It tells you why the waves bang their heads incessantly on the coast. And why the earth keeps circling the sun.

And why the tide persistently rises in spite of the perennial ebb that it is struck with.

Why the moon is not ashamed of those stains on its face. Or if it is, why it shows its marred face to the world every night through the boughs in spite of the shame.

Why that lamppost stands alone in the snowfall burning itself out.

And if love exists, why it creeps in my heart like a bug. 

Like a red little bug that always tries to reach out to you. Maybe sometimes it does, but mostly it dies.

But it tries.

While you stand in the rain worrying about something and looking aimlessly at me with with your big eyes 

Very soon the tired bug, infuriated by failures to reach out to you, tears my heart into pieces.

And then scatters the pieces in a field of bright yellow sunflowers.

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About zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

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