The Gift Of Being Left Out

She looked out from the open window. The rain was pouring down beautifully from the dark clouds. She longed to hear the splatter of drops on the wet pavements. She thought to herself about the soft sound the wind would make while rustling past the wet leaves. She wished she could hear her own voice. Her little world had been oblivious to sound since she gained consciousness, but today, these were the only things she felt misfortunate for in her life.

There were days when she stared around herself, completely lost and terribly broken. She used to seek for meanings in the harrowed spans of silence that once were her sole companion. She considered them her foe, her nemesis. Her silence was usually broken by array of dreams where she visualized paradise and life beyond her inferno.

Soon, the void of emptiness cleared. She grew up and her silence became the river of her knowledge. Her eyes became the receptor of sounds. Though still unable to hear, she started to acknowledge the calmness in her silence. She looked around herself and saw dilapidated people getting agitated over a slight unwelcome note falling upon their ears. It then occurred to her, “The gift of being Left Out.”  

It came like a blissful shower over her thirsty land. The gift of being left out from the hollers of violence, the whispers of greed, the hisses of betrayal and the sighs of helplessness. Her silence was a carnival of peace, generous in its giving. The gift wore the mask of the everlasting light in her deep abyss, lighting her soul with bright rays of hope and life.

Years passed on in comprehending her gift. Sorrows were inflicted, but the fathom of understanding has been deepened. Today, she whispers to her silence, absorbs her void and searches her abyss for the profound knowledge of her own self. Her gift has always been there, regardless of time and space, guiding her towards horizon, guiding her towards her Sun.