The anguish of the silence
The more powerful silence is when a man, a woman or a kid sits down on the pavement and looks at people passing in front of them. People ignore their presence because each one is taking care of their own lives. What’s the meaning of their mutism, the silence reflected on those desolated faces?
Their silence hides all answers when our eyes met these unknown beings. It is not necessary to exchange words. Silence is enough to understand them. Would it be possible that these silences are moments to make the balance of daily life? Does silence wonder why our walk, our words, aren’t part of their lives, and there is only the void?
When our eyes met silent people, we know, inside ourselves, the answers to these silences we see in their eyes. They are asking to do something for them. Would they like to be what they are, unknown people? Do their silences hide sorrows, rage and fantasy?
Silences and outstretched hands hide more things than we assume. This silence is not always a defeat. They are universes living away from their childhoods when they didn’t have toys, warm beds, hugs to embrace them, kisses to celebrate their arrivals and departures, a home smelling and food on the table. Their looks are so distant as the distances between our childhoods that won’t meet. In the future, they will listen to imprecations, they will suffer invisibility and will wear rags to dress their dirty bodies filled with prejudices in the adult world.
How many silences exist in the eyes of these people who sit down on the pavements looking at us? During friendly conversations, we are silent and our thoughts get frozen before these silences that come from them, and we never imagine what they are trying to tell us.
They are losers living apart from the noise of parties and funny conversations at bar tables. They walk on the pavements, interrupting lunch, dinner and kisses of lovers. If they approach, sometimes shy and ashamed, our silence will be the only answer to their questions. They went away in silence, and our noise is back, funny, and we put our embarrassment into our silences.
If we haven’t got an opinion and arguments, they are enough to make silence, as if this silence were comfortable for us, however pragmatic and questionable. Our silences are not the same. For each silence, there is a question without an answer, but we know it.
Photo from: Foto de matthew smith en Unsplash
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