Blank Pages

Blank Pages carry the most weightage.

The weight of unspoken words,

inarticulate grief, repercussions of

cruelty, and inhumanity.

 

Whether it speaks or stays silent.

In both cases, it revolts.

Silence, an aggressive protest

beyond any language’s control.

 

In the music of flipping

sides of white sheets, I heard 

the rhythm of poetic verse.

Beckoned me to hear their tale,

but I, 

I snubbed their cry,

and tried to fill these pages

like a commercialized player.

Staring at me with puzzling expressions,

these pages spur me to question

the shallow cage of my age

and rebellious ink halts

me from penning down the letters.

I am too numb to even

desire the truth this static 

ink has to reveal.

Maybe, it knows the truth

of the written words.

The deception and hoax

of this illusionary world.

Maybe, it has grasped

the fact; words look pretentious

for ages and silence reveals

the truth of all races. 

Should I continue to write?

When the blank page itself speak

of its plight, the hypocrisy of the

written lies and the blindness of

the sight.

By: Afshan Mirza