Sounds of Silence

SOUNDS OF SILENCE

The Sounds of Silence That plague the hallway,

The frequent disrupting cadence That fastens the floors decay

The hallway to liberation, they call it?

The path to a better reality,

The gateway to a dome of stimuli, isn't it Where the sounds reverberate after every calamity

The cadence is striking

it adds an effect to fate,
The silence is not considered frightening
But the impact is worse than hate

The floor looks wooden from afar,

The planks look cracked and flayed,
They are actually nails, burnt and charred Metal in nature, but naturally attained
There are paintings on the walls,
Different shapes and sizes, different paints But all of them are panicked calls,
Blotched and disfigured by blood stains.

The first painting is bright,
 Of two men, a quarter of the way late,
They are red as if bathed by a shield of sunlight
But it's piercing their bodies deciding their fate

The second painting is bucolic
Covered by a field of sugarcane
 But there lies a body, like a note unmelodic In the rhythm of silence, looks like a minor in pain

The third painting is different,

It's a bus, travelling in the rain With a pedestrians raising placards like a deterrent But the traffic of silence is the driver's disdain

When a child walks through this deserted hallway

He slips on the floor, his foot falls in a hole

Hoping to see the paintings, hoping to hear what they say
 But his whole body goes limp, out of his control
And as the nails grow bigger, swallowing him like prey

He tries to make a noise, tries to tell the world
 But he is confused, only his hands left grey And his nails join the lot, pale and curled

There goes another voice Another bright spark of light

Another fire put out, spirits in the hallway rejoice
What could have he done, they say it isn't his fight