“The Architect of Silence”

The Architect of Silence

By [Ali Rehman]

In a world stitched tight with endless sound,

Where chaos is king and noise wears the crown,

There lived a quiet soul, unknown to fame,

Whose hands shaped silence and gave it a name.

They called her the Architect of Silence,

Builder of peace, the stillness’ defiance.

Not with bricks, nor mortar, nor steel beams,

But with breath, with pause, and whispered dreams.

She wandered through forests where leaves held their hush,

Along rivers that folded in gentle, soft crush,

In the heart of the city, midst clamor and strife,

She sought out the moments untouched by life.

For silence, she knew, was no empty space,

But a canvas of wonder, a sacred place.

Not absence of sound, but a song in disguise,

Where the soul’s quiet murmur can finally rise.

Her days were spent weaving invisible threads,

Between moments unheard, in the spaces she treads.

A flicker of twilight, the pause in a breath,

A heartbeat of calm standing firm against death.

She built no towers, no palaces grand,

Only stillness — a refuge, a gentle hand.

In a world that shouted, she dared to be small,

A whisper, a silence, the quiet in all.

The Architect’s gift was not easily seen,

For silence is subtle, like dew on a green.

She crafted a temple where none could hear,

A sanctuary built with nothing but care.

No doors to slam, no halls to echo,

Just the hush of soft earth, and the winds that flow.

A place where thoughts settle like soft, falling snow,

And the heart learns to speak what the noise won’t know.

She invited the weary, the broken, the lost,

To step through the silence and pay the calm’s cost.

For peace is a price not bought with gold,

But with stillness embraced, and stories told bold.

In that quiet temple, a child once came,

Her mind a wild garden, untamed by name.

She raced with the wind, her laughter a stream,

But silence was strange — a forgotten dream.

The Architect knelt, and with hands full of light,

She showed her the beauty of soft, gentle night.

Together they wove a cocoon made of hush,

Where chaos could rest and wild thoughts could flush.

The child learned to breathe in the spaces between,

To listen with ears where no sound had been.

In the silence she found a deep well inside,

Where wonder and wisdom and quiet reside.

Seasons turned slowly beneath the still skies,

And the city grew loud with its ceaseless cries.

But the Architect smiled in her quiet domain,

For silence was strength — not absence, but gain.

She traced the soft edges of dawn’s early glow,

The soft sigh of snowfall, the river’s slow flow.

She built with the moments that no one would miss,

The beauty that blossoms in quiet abyss.

Her hands were the poets who never wrote words,

Her voice was the sound of unspoken birds.

She sculpted the spaces where hearts could repair,

Where silence was tender — a balm and a prayer.

One day, when the world seemed too harsh and unkind,

The Architect whispered a truth to remind:

“Stillness is not empty, nor silence alone,

It’s the music that lives when all noise is gone.

It’s the breath between moments, the pause in the song,

The place where the restless find where they belong.”

So if you find chaos too loud to endure,

Seek the Architect’s gift, quiet and pure.

In the hush of your soul, the calm you will find,

The architect’s silence — a peace that’s designed.

And so she continues, in shadow and light,

Building with stillness through day and through night.

The Architect of Silence, unknown but true,

Teaching the world what silence can do.

In every soft moment, in every hush deep,

In the spaces between where the quiet things sleep,

There lies a vast beauty, gentle and wise,

The silence that opens our closed, weary eyes.

The end.