Silence of words
You hear them all -- The sound of water, the sound of a window responding to the breeze, the sound of an empty road, the sound of a sleeping footpath, the sound of silence. I have often wondered what is it that is so magical about a silent night. Poets wrote odes to it, Revolutionaries used it, lovers devoured it, thieves stole it.
I am but a slave to it. Tonight, every night. So lying still , I slipped into introspection, retrospection. Introspection, wise men say, is looking at the mirror, and retrospection, I say, is crying over spilt milk.
I refuse, tonight, to be lulled to sleep, refuse to introspect or retrospect. But I give in to its power to empower. Words! Strange a silent night should empower words. Just like love should empower the heart, like tears should empower the feet. But they do.
Words! To hear them is to believe, we tear at them, want them, desire them, greed them, sometimes dread them, but want them to spill nonetheless. The drought of them, kills. A flood of them , kills. To woman's heart , some words have the power to numb.
I am not numb tonight. Not any night, anymore. It's been long...
-Rosemary Marandi
You hear them all -- The sound of water, the sound of a window responding to the breeze, the sound of an empty road, the sound of a sleeping footpath, the sound of silence. I have often wondered what is it that is so magical about a silent night. Poets wrote odes to it, Revolutionaries used it, lovers devoured it, thieves stole it.
I am but a slave to it. Tonight, every night. So lying still , I slipped into introspection, retrospection. Introspection, wise men say, is looking at the mirror, and retrospection, I say, is crying over spilt milk.
I refuse, tonight, to be lulled to sleep, refuse to introspect or retrospect. But I give in to its power to empower. Words! Strange a silent night should empower words. Just like love should empower the heart, like tears should empower the feet. But they do.
Words! To hear them is to believe, we tear at them, want them, desire them, greed them, sometimes dread them, but want them to spill nonetheless. The drought of them, kills. A flood of them , kills. To woman's heart , some words have the power to numb.
I am not numb tonight. Not any night, anymore. It's been long...
-Rosemary Marandi
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