As we see our eyes have been reduced by illusion and so has the ears unconsciously deaf and also as the breath determines the hear beats. Swinging over the high deluge of lives all we settle down to is some hums and whispers. Origin of which never have a genesis while other kept being persuasive that they had any remotely existence. I wonder where the balnce among them is. Which one we choose to ignore which one we feel to embrace in the absence of silence. I also at times find my self associating to such unrealistic or the invalid rhetoric but not all not all. The reason has always been the proximity to the rhetoric whereas the silent whisper dies its own subtle death. Similar to the high pitched chatter of an aviary at the break down, reducing the distant mumble of a mountain stream. Asserting the fact rhetoric didn’t felt any compunction to place the silent whispers in its own mortuary.
Swaying down to the remnants of the past from where the words had originated did they made or are making some sense, completely unfamiliar, disgusted with despair. Is it the confluence of confusion that I witness? or was it that I wonder I cannot grab it by my wits. The truth, the propaganda, the joke all of whose shadows just made it all black, while the others remain outlandishly white.
It is not that the disparity of colours matter the most but when abbreviated on account of not being part of the hue one feels seclusion. Losing the track or staring at the darkened track of small yet long path where the traveler crawls or kneels down with a hope of hope.
Suddenly one realizes the abrupt taste of words have a fury in them as alive as the feeling when it dissolved may be that needed to be drained and thus the silence it self surmounts to be in an exile of its own. Now for once and all the feeling ahs been a part of it and the cause and effect shared here but premise is missing. I feel that the spectrum of such clouds would keep on roving over and over and I shall let it go till the thunder strikes and it rains and can see the clear sky the blue the true sky speaking none for it not now or later.
