To the one who stole, I say: nothing.
To the one who broke, I say: nothing.
To the one who saw only the mischiefer, I say: nothing.
To the one who forged him, I say: nothing.
To the one who gave hope, I say: nothing.
To the one who ceased believing, I say: nothing with a cherry on top.
I say nothing with a chest so full of words, I would choke on my own flames. I say nothing without the fear of missing any trains. I say nothing because silence is my noblest asset and my sturdiest weapon. I say nothing because silence is cowardice. I say nothing because silence stabs. Silence kills. Silence hurts. Silence maims. Silence dismantles. Silence humiliates. I say nothing because silence does all the sickening things words can. Brutal? Wicked? I bet it's all that and more. I still say nothing .. because silence collects all the corpses and leaves the battlefield squeaky clean. I say nothing because words belong to the land of only the living. I say nothing because words are notoriously inconsistent. I say nothing because it's not my turn to speak, even though the mics have been set up, and the people have turned all ears for me. The clocks have turned timeless and the world has paused to see me less skinned than I am but I bite my lips because I own the element of choice.
I am not sure at what exact point in time I grew this quiet. Was it the first "Je t'aime à la folie" that went unreciprocated? Or was it the first "I'm sorry" that went unheard? Maybe it was the moment I heard my favourite superhero say she would rather stay on one side of that door, or when my best friend told me "Wear your heartache on the inside, people do it all the time to look pretty". Spoiler: I didn't wanna be pretty, I wanted to break that faucet loose, hijack the stage, sing my tunes till my cords bled and my head boiled. Here's what's up.
But in my silence, I'm not solo. I'm sitting on the porch of a cabin by the lake my father never took me to. The crickets chirp their usual hello and we observe the smile of tired eyes as the moon sends its final sigh. Only crickets seem to understand what it's like to be able to detect the slightest flicker in wavelengths. Do this long enough and it becomes addictive. It becomes more like .. waiting
Written by: Mo'men Alhoot.
To the one who broke, I say: nothing.
To the one who saw only the mischiefer, I say: nothing.
To the one who forged him, I say: nothing.
To the one who gave hope, I say: nothing.
To the one who ceased believing, I say: nothing with a cherry on top.
I say nothing with a chest so full of words, I would choke on my own flames. I say nothing without the fear of missing any trains. I say nothing because silence is my noblest asset and my sturdiest weapon. I say nothing because silence is cowardice. I say nothing because silence stabs. Silence kills. Silence hurts. Silence maims. Silence dismantles. Silence humiliates. I say nothing because silence does all the sickening things words can. Brutal? Wicked? I bet it's all that and more. I still say nothing .. because silence collects all the corpses and leaves the battlefield squeaky clean. I say nothing because words belong to the land of only the living. I say nothing because words are notoriously inconsistent. I say nothing because it's not my turn to speak, even though the mics have been set up, and the people have turned all ears for me. The clocks have turned timeless and the world has paused to see me less skinned than I am but I bite my lips because I own the element of choice.
I am not sure at what exact point in time I grew this quiet. Was it the first "Je t'aime à la folie" that went unreciprocated? Or was it the first "I'm sorry" that went unheard? Maybe it was the moment I heard my favourite superhero say she would rather stay on one side of that door, or when my best friend told me "Wear your heartache on the inside, people do it all the time to look pretty". Spoiler: I didn't wanna be pretty, I wanted to break that faucet loose, hijack the stage, sing my tunes till my cords bled and my head boiled. Here's what's up.
But in my silence, I'm not solo. I'm sitting on the porch of a cabin by the lake my father never took me to. The crickets chirp their usual hello and we observe the smile of tired eyes as the moon sends its final sigh. Only crickets seem to understand what it's like to be able to detect the slightest flicker in wavelengths. Do this long enough and it becomes addictive. It becomes more like .. waiting
Written by: Mo'men Alhoot.
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