The friend we hate
At moments words fail us,
when the volcano of our irksome emotion erupts,
and we loose sight of the road ahead.
When our eyes are tired of being wet
and our mind fragments,
our friend creeps in, and holds together,
these broken pieces without gluing them.
She is the last man standing
when all motions seem motionless.
She remains with us, in the midst of the crowd,
in the tranquility of memories, and solitude.
Even when the blue sky
chameleons into dark clouds, at times,
without silver lining, she stays true.
She is the most despised of our friends.
When we loose our mind,
she walks in, hushed, always having our backs
I call her shelves, because she has many compartments,
many items compressed, piled up in her.
Silence is the friend we hate but,
she never stops loving us.