Echoes Of Silence

It was a serious elbow crease for my mother teaching me to talk. It must have been as I know how hard it is to direct a zealous heart welled with ever-growing aspires of wishes, sharp and heavy, to one thing to be done with patience. But somehow she did unaware of the ultimate consequences which I faced.

For each word I spoke was a year’s long hungry wolf to feed upon. As I grew, the aspires of my heart grew sharper and heavier too, knowing that they’ll pain more when they fall as with every passing moment was a wolf born, instinctively hungry.

My heart currently resembles a porous carcass hit by a dozen of veteran archers. But the awe is, more light reaches it and reaches deep now. Deep enough for any pill to cure it, any cascade to rinse it and any workout to drag it out.
Caressed by the loving hands of a destiny whose bosom knows no poison, raised in the warm embrace of a fate that writes itself with a stilted hand and loved by the all-conquering gaze of life at its triumphant best…
I, me and myself were at war with one another. But sometimes the peace of soul is in the disunity of heart and mind. There are some decisions that take a toll on your fingernails, and yet some that resemble the raking of razor-sharp talons along the heart’s innermost membrane. I was a lost man and a lost man knows no gamble. Everything in this universe conspires to make me come to terms with my innermost condition, exhibit some enterprise and regale those around me with tales of glory and sunshine.

Yet, I never budge. I hide beneath my mossy boulder, seeking shelter from the scorching rays of an unforgiving sun. I wait around for an opportunity to scamper away, with no airs left to put up anymore. I know my cause, recognize it as futile and resign myself to what is written. But to know that there is darkness ahead, a heart rich in fervent hopes is no less than a mystery.

All the life and colors drain from my face, leaving behind a portrait that is sparse in detail and desolate in character. I become a pariah within my own body and an alien in my own mind. Bombarded by a surfeit of gloom, I await for the deadly claws of depression to snap my twig like ribs into two. I wait and I wait………

Athar

Student of English Literature, Blogger by profession, Explorer by passion, Creative by mind...

Close