Breaking the Silence: with Silence

From Karbala to Andalus is only the beginning.A lone figure stands silently at the edge of an ancient cliff, their indigo cloak billowing softly in the evening wind. The sky above is painted in rich twilight tones—deep blues, purples, and a soft orange glow that hints at the setting sun. Below in the distance lies a city of golden light, its architecture echoing the elegance of lost Andalusian grandeur: domes, arches, and winding alleys shimmer in the quiet haze.
I never wrote for applause.

I wrote to remember.
I wrote because silence is betrayal.

There comes a time when words spoken to deaf ears only deepen the void. I have spoken, shared, and reached out for those who once listened — but now, the silence is louder than ever. This is not surrender, but a new way of speaking. A way of breaking the silence with silence.

And now, I write for what was buried —
for those who can no longer speak,
because those who can, have chosen to stay mute.

I may still write, when I must.
But you’ll have to find it.

From Karbala to Andalus is only the beginning.



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