Silence

A man in his early seventies, lived aloof, was lost in his darkness. He would hold himself responsible for all the acts he had committed as a father, as a husband, his failings and his thoughts consumed his urge to remain optimistic. The power of thoughts, the sharpness of the created-evil, the stinging bites of what he construed as a failure, worthless, meaningless ended up in an end.

It is never easy to understand what goes on in a mind, as a bystander, one can never know. What goes in one's head only that person is aware of it. The truth that one lives within is known to that person only. The exterior may belie the pain, the humiliation, the sufferings, the travails and the joys. However, the pain within is a pain that intensifies if not checked in time. Nobody can be held responsible, one is responsible for one's own state of being.

Life branches out before us like any tree. From the tip of every twig, every branch, a wonderful now beckons and smiles. The branches wither, the tips of the leaves blacken. Bathing in the light of the moon, it is a face in it's own right. The moon is the mother to that tree, making it believe in tenderness, bending on it with it's mild eyes. The clouds flower, with a mystic blue. The moon sees everything and sees nothing. She is bald and wild. And the message is: blackness and silence.


Awaken from the sorrow, let the heart hear the tone of joy, from every depth of good and ill, the mystery binds me still.