"Feelings are intense, Words are trivial"

Silence is misunderstood. It is a deadly watcher. It refuses to move away until truth is spoken. It can maintain multiple thoughts at the same time in the quest for resolution, and listen harder than a million. It keeps the person within from drowning in turmoil, and more importantly, refusing to trigger that అలజడి into the world around you, where children breathe and age rests. This power is impalpable.

“If one starts, another does”. Isn’t it a chain reaction? Those who do the work, who quietly live the philosophy, carry a silence so loud that it clears fog just to deepen it once you seek unified vision. This reference frame is close enough to guide, and distant enough not to intervene. And you, being overflowing pots that somehow remain contained, place every necessary act where it belongs…some in the open where everyone sees, and others at the tip of the iceberg where its hard to see. The more you guide, the less you appear to lead. Tuning fork as a lighthouse.

At some point, the pain becomes something else. A message, perhaps. A verdict. The world will not come to save you, and so — perhaps — you will act. And if you do, no one will see the years that led to it. They will only see the moment it surfaced. And they will label it. He yelled, they’ll say. He snapped. He’s dangerous. But they will not repeat what he said. Not because it was senseless — but because it was not. Because it was uncomfortably coherent. Because it pointed to things that are not supposed to be named: the cruelty of health insurance, the corruption of systems, the invisibility of pain. In time, support for him will be reshaped. Not into solidarity, but spectacle. They will show his face. They will talk about his looks. They will mention the women. Not to understand him, but to diminish him. A pretty man in a mugshot is easier to mock than a man who has been broken by a corporation. Easier, too, to reduce his supporters to groupies than to examine the cause that brought them there. And so the media does what it always does. It reframes and redirects. It cannot bear complexity. It cannot tolerate ambiguity. So it offers caricature instead. But those who know pain — the real kind — see differently. We see the gritted jaw, the foggy eyes, the stiffness in the neck. We see the kind of suffering that isn't cinematic. The kind that just sits there, every day, while you try to be normal. We do not excuse harm. But we understand descent. And somewhere in this story, there is not just a man. There is a system. One that demands calm while offering none. That insists on obedience while giving you nothing to hold onto. That punishes you when you scream, but remains silent when you ask for help. In the end, perhaps this man is not a hero. Perhaps he is not a villain either. Perhaps he is simply someone who broke in public, after breaking in private for years. And perhaps that is worth understanding — not to forgive or forget — but to finally see what we are doing to each other.

We've been lucky on this front. It's kind of rare that people in our lives do the whole "just wait until..." thing. Not in a way that comes across as a person trying to dampen our mood, or trivialize a problem we're venting about, at least.

“How to start and end sentence? How to cut out the emphasis (on actually good things being shared)? How to eat away your words (of strength much needed)? What should be the tone at every second of uttering, any polynomial equation for that? How should you stand, sit, sleep, fold legs, cry, laugh, walk, talk, open up and finally, s___? How should you diminish the thought of not modifying the extremely salty dish with onion or something? How should you control the thought of just washing out on 3 pieces of cloth cause they’d be elasticized beyond the limit otherwise? Even 4 more letters uttered in this utterly confused instance of where to go when you want an exact pin drop silence, are unpermitted, otherwise my nostrils and eyebrows are ready to shoot up high”. Honestly, what a stupefying chunk of lessons so pricelessly pricey? So free. Thank God one knows how to inhale and exhale or maybe that’d be taught too!

Risk and disc. It ain’t gonna be feeling brisk. Those dark-looking emptied spaces coming out of the structure. That protrusion.  The herniation.

If fear is feeling like the one to scare you, let it care about you.

Once feel the tone these carry. How can you say that?, I’ll fall on you, I’ll prove this n that, etc. These can be classified either ways. These are actually present where there’s an authentic emotion and bond long now, in the sincere absence of a connect that you’d hopefully attain ahead. And otherwise, when you’re disturbed by the redundant, where a silent smile and work of resonance will come to rescue. Ahh, way more enough you see. The thing is that these involve some magnitude of hate, aggression and/or vengeance, unhealthy enough, at some point. Sure. You’ll loose the hold on your mind. And that’s volcanic”. You know, this tone is one hell of a fabric is the bone we’re interested in. The intention it carries. The feeling it weighs on you.

Detachment ain’t escapism.

“Pointed out the clear-cut mistake and it’s even addressed, so what’s the waiting in bringing it into an effect that makes a huge difference?”. Okay, got ya. It ain’t no straightforward and “mattered” deal to take it from 50% to 75%, say, especially when there are very few instances of insensible time constraints like that to occur, let alone taking it that way. And it ain’t even any more simple to change the way you’re correcting and dealing after the party is done, especially when it’s more about you knowing your work and the basics right with a needful sense of clarity for yourself first. So, this is a painful surprise. The pain ain’t about a percentage, a quantity or any tangible thing. First of all, this consumer/producer needs to get truly applauded for the unshaken focus on what’s feeling wrong and on taking ahead the intriguing doubtfulness. Imagine if a consumer does the job the producer got to and vice-versa. I mean, think of it, denominator is anyway less and in the corresponding numerator, if half of them are faulty available in an insensible time span, this ain’t fun. Those few fellas with genuine sense, grip n grit and drive would inevitably not drift from one to another and delve into what’s wrong, which ain’t any wrong in being done. Grabbing whatever can be from different sets and combining results in such a scenario shouldn’t deviate from the fact that the key is to go hand in hand. And hasn’t the establishment of importance in doing great in all been consistent enough and now, “oh, it’s the learning only, right”, let alone any change in any way in your faults?! Well, it’s time to care about at least one of the elements of how life feels like, i.e., to eliminate darkness in one’s self, which is the actually the meaning of knowledge.

Silence is diligence more than being about vigilance.

 It’s known that you’ve always been here and wished so until the end. I was constantly thinking in my self, you wanted to come? Was I right about it? Your glowing eyes, your elongated jawline, your shrinking self, your words on the lines of actually reminding one's role in the sense of feeling alive now after so much of time and all of your demeanour.

Humility is that unreal-feeling reality, no less than fertility to the eternity. What else can one tell of serenity?

The most misunderstood fellas got to yield tears and at some point, silence, when there's no scene and sense. They deserve better. 

To be deprived of what almost everyone (hardly) feels some terrific pride of, reemphasizes the kind of void this is. You just don’t get it, the “usefulness” or the “uselessness” of the aftermath.

Blood flood would wait anyway, but it ain't like a feather flow. it's intense. It can be in thoughts, in veins, in words, in actions, in choices and overall, in mind.

Veins in vain got to feel vane, at least for once.

Perseverance is a severe emotion so immense, intense, that I felt so early