Hearing silence my old man does when he slowly dances around
the kitchen floor thinking he’s alone. When I sit still, I can hear
silence too. Noises and voices, Louis Armstrong’s trumpet and
the drumbeat of distant wars. Some of them fought and some
waiting to be fought. And I hear the righteous defending a war
where millions will die and our way of life will forever be scarred
by shame. People have lost their voices, because it drowned in
the cacophony of conflicting messages that seep into our mind
day and night. Overload, fuse gone, apathy. And my old man will
never hear the good silence again.
