Image credit nenetus @

Image credit nenetus @

‘The music in silence…’

Silence is the best answer for all the unwanted noises…

It’s hard, silence, than words. When people rip me off, for things I haven’t done, haven’t even thought of in my wildest of dreams, I stay silent.

Age old hurt pulses through me often, pain courses through my body beaten by words, but I hold on. To silence. It makes me feel superior to all those talking, lying, gossiping mongrels who see themselves superior.

But I know, in my heart, that I am above them all.

I let them talk, I hear them all. Their cruel nails cleave through my heart and flesh and bones. Their hungry fangs feed off the pouring blood, but no, I won’t scream in agony. Will never scream and give them the satisfaction.

Of course, I fear them. Those heartless monsters, clad in normal masks of humans, but I don’t give up. Or give in. That’s my strength. That and silence. Endless, eternal silence. It seems to drive them mad with fury, crazy with need.

They want, oh how they want, my words. My cry of plea.

I won’t give them the pleasure.

They often wonder aloud, whether I have gone dumb and deaf. Whether the shock has impaled deep, making me voiceless.

No I am NOT voiceless. I just don’t want to waste it on cruel, flesh-eaters, who love to enjoy their life in others’ tears. Greedy they are, they want more — they want my pain and tears, but I won’t give them that. Give them what they need. Ever.

I am well past it, all I have now is my dignity. And my silence.

Bad b*tch, wh*re, sl*t, they curse and I pretend that I don’t hear.

Why am I a b*tch? Because my husband has left me for another woman? Why am I a wh*re, because their husbands have tried to weasel their way into my home and into my body?? Why am I a sl*t, because I have never let these rabid dogs use me and my body???

The joke is on them. They have no idea how the JOKE is on them!!!

When the darkness quiets the world down,

And the noises are muted,

Hear it loud and clear –

The wisdom behind the unspoken words…

I smile sometimes, wry, when they call me names… Because I know…

Silly women! Cursing me when they can’t shackle their husbands down. Poor idiots!

They don’t have the courage to let go and they blame me. I let them scream all they want… Because we know, them and I, that I am nothing they call. That I am purer than all of ’em combined.

It’s a game, long and well played beyond the ending time. I let them play. They think they are the directors, but no I am the director of this cruel, callous play. Only they write half the script.

One day they can’t bear it anymore. My silence, my superiority to their weakness. With vengeance, someone lit fire on my cottage. Accident, they will close the case, I know.

The fire blazes, sings.

I know its time for my Death. I let Him embrace me, quietly.

When fire eats at me, burns my flesh, I walk out, flaming. The pain singes, and I want to scream, but I won’t. Not at the end. I will not damage the music in my silence, not even at the end.

People are watching… No one comes to help, I know they won’t help…

I say… I so softly say… I finally say…

‘My death shalt liberate you…’

And in their hushed silence, I burn to ash.


This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.
© Fathy_writes

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