If the universe can be undone by a sound too great to hear, why can’t our collective silence undo the cruelty of men?
If the stars roar, but we are saved by silence — why does our silence here permit suffering?
By Nisar Banbhan
Across the infinite reaches of the cosmos, there is no stillness — only a great and unrelenting uproar. A universe humming with energy, vibrating with power, roaring with a sound we will never hear.
At night, we gaze upon the stars — those distant, twinkling sentinels suspended in the dark tapestry of the heavens. They seem tranquil. Serene. Silent. But their silence is a grand illusion. For they are not mute; they are deafening.
Many stars emit sound at levels we can scarcely imagine — some at 95 decibels, others at 105, and some even louder. Our own Sun, the blazing heart of our solar system, is no exception. It, too, sings — its fiery voice resonating at a constant 100 decibels. And yet, we hear nothing. Not a whisper. Not even a murmur.
Why?
Because between us and this eternal symphony lies an abyss — the vacuum of space. A soundless void. In space, sound has no air to travel through, no water to ripple across, no matter to vibrate. It is not that the stars are quiet. It is that we are shielded.
And in that shielding is a mercy.
For if the voice of the Sun could reach us — if the howling of stars could find its way to our fragile ears — we would perish in an instant. These celestial giants do not whisper. They explode. The Sun alone transforms hydrogen into helium every second through violent fusion reactions, releasing more energy than humanity could generate over a thousand lifetimes. That energy births light, heat — and sound. A sound so powerful it would tear us apart, atom by atom.
Light, being electromagnetic, can travel through space. But sound, which needs a medium, is mercifully blocked. That barrier, that silence, is not emptiness — it is divine intervention. It is restraint woven into the laws of physics. Perhaps even an act of compassion by the One who crafted the stars themselves.
Had He willed otherwise, we would have been erased by the roar of the heavens.
Can Sound Destroy?
Yes. In ways that defy comprehension.
We already know that prolonged noise can fracture the human mind. Loud, persistent sound can disorient, can unhinge, can drive a soul to madness. That’s why horns are banned near schools and hospitals. That’s why peace is prescribed for healing.
But what happens when sound exceeds all bounds?
There exists a threshold — a sound so powerful that it does not merely disturb, but annihilates. At 1100 decibels, sound transcends its nature. It no longer vibrates through air — it crushes it. It shatters molecules. It transforms atmosphere into plasma.
This is not sound. It is fury. It is devastation in wave form. It is apocalypse.
If such a sound were ever produced on Earth — even for a fraction of a second — our planet would not survive it. Mountains would vaporize. Oceans would rise and vanish in clouds of steam. The atmosphere would rupture. The ground would split. The Earth itself might break into fragments and be lost to space. In mere seconds.
And what could create such a sound?
Certainly not us.
To produce a sound at 1100 decibels would require energy greater than the Sun itself — greater than all our weapons, all our machines, all our science combined. Our greatest technologies would collapse beneath the very wave they tried to harness. No laboratory could contain it. No shelter could withstand it.
Even the air, the very medium sound needs to live, would cease to exist. At such intensity, sound would destroy its own vessel — the pressure so immense, the impact so fierce, that the medium itself would vanish. The sound would end everything — including itself.
At 194 decibels — a limit we can barely imagine — sound already begins to turn into shockwaves, rupturing the air into vacuum bubbles. Even at that point, oceans could quake, marine life would perish, and living beings would be overwhelmed. But the Earth would survive.
At 1100 decibels, nothing would.
Some physicists speculate such a sound could even bend space itself — birthing a micro black hole, a collapse of reality born from vibration alone.
The Fragility of Man
This truth is not science fiction — it is a reminder of our insignificance. We are frail beings, sheltered not by walls but by the will of the Divine. If He so desired, He could erase us with sound alone. And yet — He does not.
In this infinite universe of exploding stars and unspeakable power, we are preserved.
But while the heavens show mercy, humanity does not.
A Cry for Palestine
Turn your eyes from the sky to the scorched earth of Palestine — a land drenched in blood, echoing with cries the world has chosen not to hear. There, under the same stars, entire families are silenced not by soundwaves from the cosmos, but by bombs, bullets, and bulldozers.
Thousands — now perhaps millions — of lives have been extinguished. The martyrs multiply. The children disappear. The cities collapse. And the world watches. Posts are shared. Money is wired. Prayers are whispered. But the bombs do not pause.
We are told we are powerless. Our leaders offer no solace. Our voices echo back at us — unheard, unanswered, unbelieved.
And I — I have never felt this helpless. My soul is ablaze. My blood boils. But my hands tremble with impotence. I have never wished so fiercely to do more. To rise. To scream. To break the silence with a cry that would shake the Earth.
But all I can do is wish. And pray.
If the universe can be undone by a sound too great to hear, why can’t our collective silence undo the cruelty of men? If the stars roar, but we are saved by silence — why does our silence here permit suffering?
Perhaps it is not the sound that kills.
Perhaps it is the silence that does.
Read: The Psychology of Entrapment
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Hailing from Village Mir Muhammad Banbhan, Taluka Mirwah, District Khapurpur and based in Karachi, the capital of Sindh, Nisar Banbhan is a seasoned professional with nearly 25 years of multifaceted experience, encompassing 3 years in journalism and over two decades of service in a public sector organization. His extensive expertise spans content creation, scriptwriting, screenwriting, lyrics, poetry, and storytelling across multiple languages, including Sindhi, Urdu, and English. Nisar has honed his skills in writing articles, columns, and short stories, contributing to various national and regional media outlets. Additionally, he brings a deep understanding of program development, educational advocacy, and strategic planning, having led initiatives that promote quality education and foster community empowerment. His passion for literature and education merges seamlessly, enabling him to craft impactful narratives that resonate with diverse audiences while driving meaningful change in society.
