Silent Sentiments

The cycle of sentiments is astonishing.
Out in nature, plants talk, the trees communicate. They share each other’s delights and pain. Reach out, when they see their kin suffer in vain.
It was always the subtleness of feelings that sustained them, never once, the inability of movement that defined them.
The trees give way, so the seedlings grow sheltered, well-nurtured. Hidden deep below the soil, their roots embrace and suckle each other.
Up in the breeze, their leaves cherish and flutter with one another.
Being the withered blade of grass that has seen its time, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

Water purifies itself, and those it comes in contact with.
It reacts to emotions and transforms its cleansing skills through an inherent understanding of others. Defined by how it is treated, it dies and re-lives repeatedly, in a single lifetime.
The mountains sing, the air breathes, the winds hustle.
Being the mist evaporated from those gushing rivers, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

The lovers celebrated each other’s existence.
There was no need for words, spoken. No reason for thoughts, broken.
Their communion was the silence; the whiff of body scent, their contentment.
Their thoughts floated through the winds, the serenity of touch anchored their feelings.
Time didn’t matter, but space, proximity, was essential; they had each other he silently slid off the bed, she cuddled into the empty space he left behind.
Being the heartbeat within their heart, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

Unsure, insecure, the child held his terrified breath.
It was only when he fell into the safe arms of the father that his feeble limbs relaxed.
Ever since, whenever his parents pretended to fling him into the air, he would squeal in anticipation; feelings assured of the caring arms that would always catch him.
These were his first feelings in life; the comfort of having those whose arms would be waiting for him.
Being the father whose hands broke his falls, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

She climbed up the stairs and opened the door to her disheveled room.
She had already eaten on the way home so there wasn’t much to do except fling herself onto the bed and stay occupied with her smartphone.
Not that she expected any calls at this hour. In fact, she rarely got personal calls.
But her social pages were active with posts from ‘friends’ she never met. Who shared her excited postings but were never there.
Expression of feelings was unnecessary; smileys and abbreviations replaced verbal dialogue. But nobody knew the real person that the other was.
It was rare if one actually knew oneself at all.
Being the commonly used ‘LOL’, from abbreviated text, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

In the concrete jungle where people live, it is always the paint that dies first.
Denied their lifeline of a caring community, the steel starts to buckle, the blocks begin to crumble, the joinery aches. The hardened concrete soon collapses due to the maddening silence within those numbed, uncaring walls.
And people think matter does not perceive, they believe it to be devoid of feelings!
Being the crushed brick within a wall, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

The combatant from the ragtag militia rose from the bed and looked lovingly at his young son who woke up with his movement.
As he slung the automatic weapon on his shoulder, he gave him a hug and smiled, ‘You want to have a big gun like your father?’
The boy grinned excitedly and nodded yes twice.
A block away, his comrades had already lined up dozens of people on the street.
These people were them, not us; this simple logic sufficed.
Their age and gender did not matter. However, the children were lined up by the roadside.
Someone had to clean up the mess.

The soldier and two of his comrades stepped up, he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
While the tobacco filled paper still clung to his moist lips, he pulled down his weapon and casually took the first shot at the back of the head that was nearest him.
As if waiting for this cue, his colleagues callously waded into the crowd.
Heartless robots, devoid of feelings, going about just another chore.
Intently, the militiamen shot, silently the victims fell.
The ears resonated from gunfire, but not a single human cry.

Soon all was quiet, there was no need to expend those expensive rounds anymore.
The burning cigarette still clung to the man’s lips.
Satisfied at the accomplishment, the three men gave each other a high-five.
From the sidewalk, their observing kin ordered the petrified children to go clean the street, drag the bodies out of the way.
Even the kids, they did nott utter a cry.
Being the spilled blood which once flowed in the shelter of the veins, I know it all. Yes, I have seen it all.
I've sensed it, I've touched it, and yes, I have felt it.

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