Silence is a bird.
Whose journey only begins after the migration of all the birds.
And it sets to soar below the clouds.
Flapping its wings peacefully.
Making its presence known only to those keen to look up the skies.
Its home is in the Far East.
Where tranquility is known in its entirety.
Where the love is the song that resounds.
Under its wings, it carries wisdom.
And its feathers bear the marks of gentleness.
Silence speaks after the stage has been brought down.
Echoing deep truths and impressing soft convictions.
Without fear of the mention of past mistakes.
And with the boldness of saying it as it is.
At its own timing, screaming loud.
Its echoes are as refreshing as a siesta.
Its derivatives as golden and relieving as money to a beggar.
Silence is fine light to the darkness of misinterpretation.
And fresh air to the polluted space of confusion.
Silence is the space that heavenly peace dwells.