I live in a small house high above the slum

On the street but off the track

Into the wood, the green scenery

Held by the tall mountains and flat plains

But enveloped in a cloud of silence

Yet, once or twice broken by the bird’s chirping

Or the frogs crack and the breeze blowing

For the trees and Shrubs to dance slowly

Though, aggressively when storms break out

This word I see and I thirst for non-other

Not because I was socially inept

Nor was it because we all others were fake

But was because silence itself was fulfilling

Inspiring, thought-minded, eye-opening

For I saw the other world

And in silence I observed

That’s why when we met,  you asked

“Have we met?”

How could we have meet

When I have always dwelt in silence.