The Muse
In silence, we walk, wearing decadent rags of our past, walking on eggshells, over our fragile cast. When rationale loses its meaning, the will to fight—receding. Some call it the path of least resistance; I call it annihilation, unlistening. Straddling, moving amidst us, still clutching a sliver of hope, it grows louder— this deafening silence, feigning a measure, a thin veil of pretense. And still, in its disconcerting comfort— it finds itself a muse: a milieu of thoughts, perhaps to delay the inevitable. But maybe we are already there, and all this is just a ruse. As we walk— in silence. © 2026 Stuti Dhyani
