A Progressive Diminution of Silence: A Brief Narrative

Once upon a time, when the world, in its spring time, was cuddled by the embrace of silence, I had heard nothing but the dreamy laughter of the stars blended by the sweetest melodies of the moon: there was peace, there was happiness; there was contentment, and there was love.

I then trod along the corridors of infantry, yet my eyes were veiled all over by the canopy of innocence. I desperately groped around the shady hallways of life—seeking after the threshold of reality—hoping that it may illumine the bleak footprints of my origin.

Till I found the doorway of imagination, it took me into a world of myth where reality was decked with the artifice of human fancies not by the genuine simplicity of reason. Life, after all, was so much better, then. I still savored the whisper of nature in its meaty silence. I still felt the ambiance of peace in its unparalleled magnificence. And I could still peer the world through the lenses of my artistic eyes and still hugged silence against the backdrop of the night. 

   

But alas, at the menacing development of science! It blurred thoroughly the essence of the world and refashioned it according to its own mold. The silence of  primordial imagination was no longer liberated from its cage. Technology imprisoned silence within the bars of its clamor. Life was easier but life was not happier. It was then that the serenity of the world had morphed into a bane scourge of the land. There was peace yet mingled with disturbance, there was communication but flavored with artificiality, there was love but conflated with hatred, and there was silence yet eclipsed by noise. 

Woe unto the inhabitants of the earth! 

The dusk of silence is now surpassed by the dawning of turbulent din! Gone, indeed, are the heydays of peace, and ushered in, are the waking hours of fine-drawn sorrows. 

Heard have I no longer, I exclaimed, the whispers of the forests around the reticent plane of tranquility. Sought have I naught, I cried, the transporting horses running to and fro hitherto. Touched have I no more, I wept, the enchanted soul of reality which was once pervaded all over the fabric of the cosmos but is now uprooted by modernity.

I long to hear the silence of olden times. I yearn for the triumphal days of restoration. Thus I trace back the truest sense of paradise underneath the Hades of dispopularity. And moving backward the days of yore where the silence of mortals be heard and the songs of enchantment will again be sung.