ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR
Date of posting 7 April 2025
The silence is not absence—
but a room with no furniture
where thought lingers like dust,
suspended in a shaft of morning light.
Between spoken words,
between the ticking of the clock,
there’s a place where nothing happens—
and that’s where everything begins.
We chase after noise,
replies, blue ticks, headlines,
forgetting the soul exhales
in the pause,
not in the applause.
I sat by the window today
and did not write.
And in that not-writing,
a line found me first.
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA
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