The Stillness She Taught Me
In the middle of noise and color, she chose stillness and showed me how
That afternoon was nothing special—just the usual rows of colorful tents, college students meandering around, street food steaming into the sky. But there she was, tucked into a plush donut of gray fluff on a wooden table like royalty. My cat.
Her name? I haven’t given her one that fits. She doesn’t respond to names, only presence.
We’d come to the university fair just to people-watch, and it turns out she watched better than I ever could. While everyone else was loud, animated, bustling — she simply stared. Not at anything specific. Not even at me. Just… through things. Through people. Through noise.
She wasn’t bored. She wasn’t curious. She was there. And it struck me how rare that is.
One girl approached and asked, “Why does she look so serious?”
I smiled. “She’s just thinking more deeply than we ever will.”
That wasn’t a joke. It felt true.
In the storm of my daily deadlines, ambitions, and background anxiety, she reminded me that stillness isn’t laziness. It’s power. It’s focus. It’s knowing you don’t need to move just because the world expects you to.
Since then, I’ve started reserving ten minutes a day to just sit. No phone. No noise. Just me. I call it “cat time.”
And honestly? I’m learning to see like she does — with steady, green eyes, quiet resistance, and a heart rooted in the moment.
About the Creator
Jawad Ali
Thank you for stepping into my world of words.
I write between silence and scream where truth cuts and beauty bleeds. My stories don’t soothe; they scorch, then heal.
Comments (1)
💔 This poem quietly shatters the heart. The emotional absence of a mother — even when physically present — leaves wounds that words can barely heal. The image of the twins growing up in silence, cared for but untouched by love, is haunting.