I truly feel delightful and satisfied when I wear the shawl of silence which is made up of fibers of innocence, naughtiness, and deep gossips. Actually, whenever I try to give a name to my feelings and emotions, every word on my tongue scatters in the wind just like a feather diffuses in a heavy storm.

Now a days, most of the people like to share their ideas and experiences with others. They know how to speak like parrots but do not want to listen to anything like a sincere friend. People are more interested to talk about the so-called love stories, discuss political and various domestic tensions. More or less, people are surrounded by distinct difficulties. Some burn in the fire of hatred while some rejoice with their loved ones. Some run behind fortune and fame while some are even deprived from basic necessities.

In such a situation, talking to yourself proves to be the best medicine one could have. To my soul, the fragmented quietness is similar to the muteness of the sea. Muteness, yet it contains deep continuous noise.

The rising turbulence in our life is due to the aggressive behavior, hidden lying under sweetness, apathetic reactions and feeling of helplessness to aid the needy. To resolve these mixed feelings, a debate continues between the heart and brain, in which brain always plays an intellectual role.

I feel invasive even if someone’s footsteps interfere. My soul finds satisfaction by hearing the arguments of heart and mind. But suddenly an innocent wish of the heart produces some convulsion. The heart gets desperate for a heartful friend or a profound companion. Soon, this aspiration dies within, and at the same time hot molten of anxiety and restlessness, starts. After a short

After a short time, it cools down by the tiny salty drops of tears. And once again reign of silence starts. So one can say that journey of words makes a man tired. In fact, I do not fear talking to others but being ignored for the same reason.

“Speak only if it improves upon the silence”. (Mahatma Gandhi)