Ignition... Reality is a virtual myth...

The power of silence

Her ebullient spirit, enervated with the taste of freedom,
Caressed her lifeless body for the one last time,
The blood splattered furniture and her innocent chirpy self,
Forming a gory spectacle of an unheard rhyme,
The ear splitting silence following the shattering noise of the reverberating bullet;
Had for once and for all laid her strife stricken soul into the cuddly abyss of time.

The malevolent stunt to smite the divine gift of life,
Had muted the cacophony of confused voices in her head,
And the small town home leading a not so average life;
Was ushered into a disdainful reality of torturous red

Her past was blown to smithereens;
Though her recent ghastly wounds remained
The spectacle complete, undeniable, irrevocable
For her mortal suffering which blatantly bellowed a story of marital torment,
Had made an ironical tale of silent coercion; completely reliable

The reality, made sonorous with time,
Had burst with the vengeance of a brewing volcano,
For the thunderous revelation that followed years of unvoiced anguish,
Had the law apprehending a violent sadist with a brief swish

Her child. The diminutive eyes behind the silent stare; were shocked!
The pain in her life was begging a vent which it never found
For, a despairing moment had but rocked,
The violent story that had been her life,

Her mother was laid to rest, her remains razed to ground.
She grappled for support, but she found none
Her head spun with remorse and she only wanted to run,
She wanted to kick, punch, hurt the lifeless image in front of her,

But a cold silent stare was all that she managed.
Her breath was heavy and her heart beat with violent madness,
The anxiety of being alone,
The responsibility of proving that weak sacrifice wrong
Had obsessed her waking dream

She wondered at the reasoning for that adrenaline rush;
Why did her mother have to leave her alone, was she happier now?
“Does my pain make her happy”, she wondered.
Conjuring answers and questions and replies and counter-questions, she felt her tender infancy as a detached part of her soul.

She had simply grown into another role.
The sombre relatives were a distant reality,
The consoling voices went past her ears with silent beckoning
Tears; they never came.

The pain was bound in the strongest knot in the wildest corner of her determination;
She could never be weak,
She had to prove her mother wrong.

In another corner of the same room, laden with guilt and remorse stood a perplexed soul.
She stood by the lighted fire, with horror in her eyes,
Staring at the oblivion;
A glance at her grandchild- gaping at the void, on the other side, made her guilt manifold.

The mother of the slain, cursed herself for her shortsighted mistakes,
She had lost a daughter to the hands of silent suffering.
Perhaps it was to be blamed on the single mother’s upbringing;
Who couldn’t make her daughter strong enough
Perhaps she herself wasn’t strong enough,

But time had given her another chance, another shot to set wrong; right,
For in that moment of hushed contemplation
She awoke in the tranquility of this rhyme.
A generation had passed and that silent moment of vivid thought,

Made her resolve taut
Her purpose was clear, crystal to extent of clarity
For she had to be the shoulder for that little angel,
She had to fill the ringing void in her sullen strife
She had to be strong against the firmament, once again to shape her child’s life…

Posted at 04:52PM Oct 07, 2007 by Parantap Roy in Personal  |  Comments[1]