The anguish of the silence
There is no silence more powerful when a man, a woman or a kid sits down on pavement and looks at people passing in front of them and they ignore their presence because each one of them is taking care of their lives. What’s the meaning of their mutism, the silence reflected on their desolated faces.
Their silence hides all answers to their questions. Questions that we have 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 silences are moments to make the balance of days life? Does silence wonder why our walking, our words aren’t part of it, but only the void?
When our eyes met silent people, we know, inside ourselves, the answers to these silences that we see in their eyes. They ask someone 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 and kisses to celebrate their arrivals and departures, home smelling and food on the table. Their looks are so distant as the distances that exist between our childhoods that won’t meet. In the future they listen to imprecations, they will suffer invisibility and will wear rags to dress their dirty bodies filled up with prejudices in the adult world.
How many silences exist in the eyes of these people that sit down on the pavements looking at us? During friendly conversations we are silent and our thoughts get frozen before these silences that came from them and we never imagine what are they 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 silence.
If we haven’t got an opinion, if we haven’t got arguments, they are a way enough to make silence, as if this silence was 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
SUBSCRIBE FOR NEW POSTS
