Journal Entry #61

Peerzada Muzamil

The Emptinesss

     "This entry was inspired by the works of Ambrose Bierce"

And I was asked, ‘’why are you silent?’’  You see, what could be better than retorting that I was not, and it was rather that I was empty – as empty as a wine glass, waiting to be poured in and to be sipped from. But how can a man who has sailed across every vengeful oceans, full of tempests and perils, remain as silent as a rotten corpse? Isn’t my heart as agitated as a tumultuous sea – the sea which is doomed by the darkest of the storms?  Isn’t my fretted heart devoured and drowning? Aren’t the cold and sturdily surging billows splashing against its sallow walls within?
No. I am not empty, I am as devoid of the words as the hot odious desert is of water. Shall I see no oases? Why am I deluded, every time by the hopeless mirages? Why is my tongue fettered? Why can’t I utter a word? Why are my lips  forlorn and shriveled, and cracked because the words have dried off from them?

For how long will I bemoan my silence? When will the welter of the waves swash away and undress gashes of my heart. When will I be vouchsafed peace by the fangs of fate? When will I utter a word from my scorched lips, and when will the heavens weep all over, frantically across the desert of my quietude?

But Alas! As for now all I am is but silent and all I hear is silence - save a clamorous din. The din that is getting louder and louder – din like a clang of a death knell. After each din is a period of prolonged silence and after the period of silence is again a raucous din – as raucous as the clattering hoofs, of a black stallion, clattering against the bloodstained metallic road. With each din, the delays of silence grow longer and with each silent spell, the din gets louder. As I close my eyes, I can see the black stallion, approaching me in this darkness, stealthily dripping the saliva from his mouth and thudding his hoofs harder and harder. I am awaiting each din with impatience as this increasing loudness is distracting me from the external world and piercing my eardrums like a spear impaling a cold liver. As the din grows louder, the spells of silence grow insanely longer and maddening. I am afraid that the stallion would tread over me and I would shriek and die. 

"Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!" 

Can’t you hear the vociferous commotion?  Yes, I am not silent. It is my poor heart, beating and writhing in pain and agitation, Can’t you hear these thuds? Would not you hearken to it? Would you still not agree, with the fact that I am not silent?