When Silence Wears a Smile

When Silence Wears a Smile

Peace, to me, is not merely the absence of noise — it is the gentle presence of harmony. It is that rare state when the mind’s unending chatter takes a dignified bow, and the heart breathes in the fragrance of stillness. In a world forever galloping towards the next deadline, the next desire, the next distraction, peace is the quiet innkeeper who invites me in, offers a seat by the hearth, and says, “Rest awhile… you are home.”

Peace is found in little, unadvertised moments. A dawn where the sun rises like a modest monk, draped in robes of gold. The rhythmic whisper of rain on a windowpane, composing a lullaby for the weary soul. The solemn companionship of a book whose words do not hurry but simply sit beside me, like an old friend who knows when not to speak.

Philosophers have long said that peace is a state of being rather than a possession. Marcus Aurelius mused that the soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts — and so, if I think in calm hues, the world itself seems softer. Indian mystics remind us that peace is the seed from which compassion blossoms; without it, love becomes restless, and wisdom becomes brittle.

Spirituality teaches me that peace is not to be hunted for in forests or shrines alone; it dwells in the temple of my own breath. When I align my spirit with the eternal — whether through prayer, meditation, or silent gratitude — I feel as though my inner waters settle, reflecting the sky without a ripple.

For me, peace is a marriage of the temporal and the eternal — of a cup of tea enjoyed slowly, and a hymn that stirs the soul; of forgiving the past and surrendering the future. It is when I stand as both a witness to life and a humble participant in it, no longer wrestling with what should be, but gently holding what is.

And when peace arrives, it does not come trumpeting its name. It steps in barefoot, wearing a smile, and leaves a fragrance that lingers long after it has gone.

In the hush between two heartbeats, I hear
A song that no storm can erase.
Not in the crowd, nor the crown I wear,
But within — I find my place.

Where prayer meets the open sky,
And dreams drift like leaves downstream,
There rests the soul — unbound, untied —
In the quiet light of a timeless dream.