Against the Silence:
Everything feels so dull.
I can’t sit quietly.
A silent prayer feels like
vulnerability;
I hear only myself.
I can’t write unless
there’s music,
I can’t think unless
there’s noise.
I sleep only if my mind is
full.
Restlessness is my lullaby.
Every song, every word is a
buffer.
A wall between myself and
I.
I hate silence,
I hate being alone.
I keep my headphones on
when you’re around.
There’s always something
playing.
I cycle the same song over
and over again.
I find my inspiration away
from silence.
Silence is not freedom
when I find solace in
captivity.
When my ears are full,
my thoughts are at bay.
I can look out into the
sea;
I don’t have to think about
today or yesterday.
I can recall every song,
every lyric, and every
chorus.
I remember the ones
that remind me of you.
Your imprint is hard to
shake.
When the battery finally
dies,
to my greatest dismay,
silence seeps back
into the cracks of my
brain.
Momentarily, the divide
between me and I
seems less opaque.
I can’t say
I see clearly;
the noise I cling to covers
my face.
Riana Jicha
Riana Jicha is an
educator and PhD candidate who writes philosophical prose. Her work dissects
the heavy cost of survival, blending academic distance with visceral confession
to explore human endurance. She is deeply grateful to the publications that support
and elevate emerging voices. Her academic writing has appeared in the Hohonu
Journal, and her creative prose is forthcoming from Piker's Press.