screaming the truth....excerpt of one of my works Silence. A virtue we have almost transformed into legend, into an abstract rendering of something inconceivable to humans who have been manipulated into a veil of vociferous spirits, spiritless voices enshrouding us with elusive exuberance. No matter where we go, we are accompanied by the silhouette of loquacity, as if trying to detain us from a moment of silence. Maybe because silence can lead to reflexivity and introspection, can make us bust our chains of ignorance and see through artificiality and elusiveness. Incontrovertibly, silence can be screaming the inevitable truth that we have been alienated from by words. In contrast to word, silence does not manipulate, does not hallucinate us with shallow shallow happiness and satisfaction. On the contrary it excruciatingly exposes the essence. A defenseless and vulnerable essence the consequences of which we are afraid of. Silence is not only a form of speech. To me it is the only speech that echoes intuition and the inner voice. Silence screams the truth. As an avowing chatterbox reticence is not my virtue. Nonetheless, I also experienced that special moment of silence. It was two years ago. She was asking me questions and I tried to retain control of the situation. I knew that one wrong word would inevitably exact its toll. I chose my words deliberately, but noticed that every breath I gave utterance to provided something I had to deny. 'Anna,it is your decision.' I responded assertively trying to radiate an air of purposefulness and strength. Trying to show repercussiveness. Until that day I did not know that being silent could be a source of the great strength that I needed. I uttered words but noticed that silence was secretly insinuating itself in my words. Enshrouded in silence my words withered away slowly but definitely. I was still talking. Indefatigably I responded to her questions. I am invincible. Imperturbable. My words officiate as a protective mask. Nonetheless, silence occurred. It was not the silence of words. Not in the sense of their absence. But it was my silence. I felt hollow inside when I noticed that I was articulating silence. Fractured pieces shaped their own identity and existence as silence. What was happening? My silence. I noticed that my words were as shallow as the time. The silence was eternal.