HiveComb

There exist moments when you go silent. Words don’t come out, they fail to express you cause you are a blank slate, yet, nothing can be written— it’s been dusted so many times that the slate has lost its texture to accommodate more chalk stains.

But how long words can remain suspended?

It has to emerge somehow, from somewhere. Maybe the longest of pauses bring the most verbose speeches. But I’m no politician, nor a motivational speaker. So, nothing fancy here, perhaps a few melodies, that too without symphony, without a note— and that makes me feel I’m losing the words that I’ve adored so much.

That also means I’m on the wrong track again. Derailed drastically. This is nothing but a mere attempt to come to my senses— words, they’ve always helped me return to my sanity by venting out depression, uncanny feelings.

This attempt to break the silence is not just to fill the void, it’s my companion to embrace the cacophony of the ocean of emotions I’m sailed into. An ocean with all the blue this world has to offer.

But I am gasping for air submerged in there, swimming towards the shore never sighted. As the icy cold vastness tries to drown me in the abyss through the whirl; a glimpse of hope keeps my heart beating for one more stroke to fight the waves, to hold my head high in search of a nearby shelter. Perhaps it’s not too far from the shore to swim back, a voice in me cries out loud— but, deep down I know the voice was silenced long ago; it’s not a voice anymore, a mirage that sometimes whispers life when lifelessness emerges with its dormant claws tearing apart the heart into million pieces.

As I am bursting into wordy tears, the shadow lingering on my soliloquy is slowly melting. Confronted with bitter truth of the blissful hell of life, it has to retreat to where it belongs— it has lost the sneaky self as I am breaking the silence; as I am at the door of revelation; as I am trying to turn the silent cacophony into melodic emotions.

But afraid I am.

Too afraid to remove myself from the silence, cause it’s all I have now, it’s what I adore with all my life. My quest for solace in solidarity. It gives me strength to weave my story, live it shamelessly, and remake the story; in tandem. Like a fabric that collects dust over time but gets a decent look after a wash and looks different with a bit of tropical conditioner.

Resilience it is, perhaps. Or surrendering to helplessness? Who knows…

But in this long streak of silence, memories have become more alive; they’ve come into life as monstrous tidal bulges crash against the shore in a full moon; every layer filled with woes and lamentation, laughter and celebration. Sometimes the tiniest of fragments bring the most joy or sorrow before they vanish like autumn mist. Only if I could collect them in marble jars; turning them into a fleet of chaotic emotions, agony, vulnerability, strength to come back to life, a sense of letting go.

Although I may not ever find that jar in this voyage of life; isn’t this paper enough to revisit those illusions for eternity?

_{*Ⓒ mine*}