The Conversation
THE CONVERSATION
A stammer once told me the beauty of listening.
So I shut my big mouth and made him speak.
Till his speech became music.
And I could sing with him each syllable till his own words chocked him.
So I listened to the brief silence with my eyes closed.
And I could see myself listening to the metronome of my heart, beat at the rhythmic pulsation of a song I knew too well that I could read it with my eyes closed.
But there was a moral to his story.
Cos for that rare fleeting moment silence was louder than two empty barrels, and we could fill each other with drops of wisdom till we made an ocean.
If silence is golden, then I wanna be stingy with my words and make me a fortune.
Cos talk is still cheap and listening has no price tag.
So let the songs I sing be heard through my actions.
Let the strings I pluck be synchronized with my chest drums for my eardrums to listen.
And let that silence beneath be heard.
This is what the stammer told me.
So I listen.
Cover my ears to the talkers and make the listeners talk.
For sound is merely a cover up of the truth we seek to walk.
Beneath every stutter; beneath every beat.
Beneath every letter you utter is nothing but something beyond everything.
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