Silence


 Referred to as a strange dialect,

With its end being sheer utterance,

While quietness adorns its beginning,

Ripping apart from the chaos and fractals. 

    An unscripted language read with heart,

    While seldom judged as a mark of wisdom,

    Where it prevails over the clamour of notions,

    And proves anger and absolute aversion.

Often attributed to the confessions of boredom,

Talking out louder than the blabbers of the time machine,

Tearing apart the vicious, yet possessed thoughts,

Owned it though after a series of cacophonous shrieks and protests.

   Silence, Yes it’s my fiery evaporation of boiling thoughts in eternal action.


                                                                                                 Linto

                                          

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