The silent voice flounders in dark alleyways and dimly lit lanes
Attics, basements, mezzanine,
and stairwells are its spaces.
Anonymity it seeks,
not comfort, safety, or solace.
Sometimes it’s better to speak with self
than play dead.
A setting sun seeking comfort
in the night’s embrace
Converting the unavoidable,
into an achievement,
Does one seek death,
or is death the seeker?
Some riddles are better left
unsolved.

The silent voice
scribbles feverishly on dimly lit desks.
Words trickle down the grooves
time has engraved.
Old leaves its mark
For new to follow
The swelling surge falters
before it gathers weight,
Ending in the bin below
Collecting since words first appeared
The unsaid

Sometimes the silent voice pauses,
afraid its own breath might betray
its place of rest.
It has yet to learn
To breathe without sound.

Unknown and unnamed,
most just wither away.
Many of them don’t realize
there might be another way
to live
And even if they come to know
They lack courage
They fear destiny’s sword
Hangs above their necks

And there are a few
different, louder, joyous voices
celebrating victory over darkness.
They breathe easy, they speak loud,
they too seek anonymity,
though in surging crowds.
Skillfully they masquerade their demons
as angels of life.
Their voices don’t trickle
They surge, rising higher
They dance in the light
with fury and might
Their words loud and clear
etch themselves into the human future
as stories, songs, and commandments.

©️ Shashikant Dudhgaonkar