Are You Out There
The Unsaid
An unsaid story
unfolds in the glossy meadows
of one’s vision,
visible in a vivid
palette of colors
and characters.
Each blink,
a refresher
that spawns new
fragments,
attaching
themselves to the narrative
in lucid perfection.
To some, the story
tells tales of flowers
blooming in winter
and withering in spring,
to others, it’s purple,
blue or black flowers
that course their way
through a silhouette
of yellow leaves.
To some, it’s the story
of becoming —
tied to past laurels,
a place to return to,
when reassurance is hard to find,
to others, it’s the story
of tomorrow —
resting on the banks
of the unknown
a place to look forward to
when life seems overwhelming.
To some, it’s a place
to rest, a place of calm,
a safe, quiet fortitude
engulfed in smiles so wide —
they narrow the
field of view,
to others, it’s a place
where restlessness
seems to blur out
the bigger picture,
focusing vision
on one little target.
The unsaid story
takes on many forms,
each unique to his own —
a collation of umpteen
experiences reduced
to a single narrative,
that could never
do justice to the actual
experience of having
lived and breathed
as they unfolded.
Somehow,
the world finds ways
to generalize these
rich, diverse stories,
grouping all that is similar
under a single umbrella
that saps the life
out of them.
Over seven billion people,
each with their own story
how many of these do we
actually, get to hear
how many do we see
right through
judging and writing off
with no real understanding
of what’s going on
behind that lens?
Imagine how full
our hearts would be
if we got to see
beyond their beautiful eyes,
if we got to hear
a little something about
their story
and how they pieced
their wonderful lives together.
So many stories,
still unwritten,
still untold,
unheard,
what if we slowed down,
to listen,
before we
passed a judgment?
