By Zenia Zaheer
“Are you mad at me?”
“Nah, why would I be?”
“Then why so quiet?”
Silence—just a riot.
My folks, yeah, they went mute,
No yelling, no dispute.
Just a stillness in the air,
Had me spinning in despair.
“Did I mess up again?”
Still nothing.
“Sorry?” I whisper to the void.
The silence toys,
Annoyed.
How can nothing feel this loud?
Like a storm without a cloud?
Every pause, every breath,
Feels like guilt, feels like death.
What are they hiding? What’s the deal?
Is it something I did—
Or just how they feel?
Silence, man, it hits real deep,
Planting fears that never sleep.
And there it sits, behind the scene,
An echo of words that might’ve been.
By Zenia Zaheer
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