Upornost

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When Death ruled the valley of fear
Destiny cried with a misery for the dear
But they went to find the valley of the dead
And saw that fear ruled it with a certain debt
Hidden away in a mortal plane
The immortal seized the valley of fear
Only to find–it was nothing–
Nothing but the death of a dear
One can see and one can choose
To keep the eyes blind
But the two valleys–out of them,
One would win and the other…
Persist

The Light Gave It Away

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Light is our friend and light is deceit and all the same while light is a phenomenon. A call for the oblivious–for the one who is so, is in dark. We all wish for the light. Because in light we feel safe, and secure. As it is in light when we are far away from the wistful bleak rooms and walls of our own thoughts.

It is in light, when miracles happen. It is light, which is a miracle. The blinding miracle–similar to the sand in the deserts where man is secure and insecure at the same time. And light, its intensity is often our savior. Light.

The blurry road–stretching so far away. Yes that road. The only road. The only way. Caught in so much dust. And blur. And shadows. Ah. The enemy.

And there I was. Having to travel that road. The one road. Having to carry the load of the dead dreams and dead poets and dead souls. The road, not less traveled, not far traveled…

So there we all stood together. Me and the dead dreams and the dead poets and the dead souls. We were one. How will we walk. How will we drift. How will time move. How will we see. How will we endure. How will we see. What will we see.

And humans, they stared. They laughed. They talked. We stood. Not very apart. But not very close. That dilemma. The haze. The winds. The people. What do they know? But, they know everything. They still don’t learn. They still ponder, and stare and talk and laugh.

SO i set. Forward. One step. Then another. Then more. The world, a great blur–for as far as the eyes can see. Then soon.

Ah. Light. The light gave it away. The road–was not just the path anymore. It became a twisted void of empty voices that echoed. But, the light–it gave it away.

Soon the friend, soon the enemy. Giving the secrets of the dark away. The enemy.

Threads

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Stories make up half of our life, atoms make up the other half. Threads-bind these halves and make the two rights-right…as long as one believes in that.

Threads are strands of twisted fragments of fibers held together–to hold together–things. Threads are pieces. Threads are twisted pieces. They bind together things-which are apart, which need to be less twisted. Twisted fragments to un-twist.

Threads bind together the missing pieces from the past to the motionless present to the blurry visions of the far ahead, the future. Just think for one moment. Do they really? Are all of these really bound together?

The present gathers dust because we can not bury the past and sometimes because we want to see the end. In all this, the motionless present gathers dust. And we become the forlorn images of a forgotten bliss and build inside huge walls of solitude.

Maybe none of this makes any sense. Maybe it makes a lot of sense. Maybe it doesn’t even matter.

Ever wonder why and hoe music stirs so many emotions inside us? Has it something to do with the brain? Or the damaged machine we call the heart? Or both? Both. Both are bound.

We are humans. Not threads. We may be bound to each other. But. We are not threads. We get attached, and detached. We can be one, and many at the same time. We are humans.

With souls. With deranged bodies, where the soul rests. With perplexed emotions, that we have to carry.Carry because otherwise, we are just a mass. We have eyes..which can dream, which can see. Which can recognize colors. And be deceived sometimes.We have hopes-which are fathomless. We have a heart–frazzled. A mind–bewitched. And we are tired, but restless. We exist. But we are not threads.

We are imitations of each others and so different. We are not twisted fibers that hold together things. and we are. We are not threads. We are imitations of threads..or it, ours. Entwined. Complex. Detailed. We are humans.

Our existence is a plan. A frightful sleep with the eyes open. An awakening with eyes tightly shut. A path. Just a path. A story with many chapters and poetry and prose and morals and an end. All bound together by various threads of countless things. It takes one single motion which cuts the cord. Does it all scatter?

We are humans. Threads stitch us. Maybe this makes no sense. Maybe this makes a lot of sense.threads

Maybe. It doesn’t even matter.

An Excerpt

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“I look at faces to hear voices coming out from a hollow soul within their empty selves

and find myself in a pool of misery so i can look at

faces and recognize the voices and it is a circle of

so many broken dreams, and torn faces and ugly reality

that in the end….

no one comes out wining.”

23.7.2014

Back to Bedlam

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Dear Emptiness.

What art thou? What feeling are you–I want to know today! The only reasonable explanation i have is very confusing..Ha. Emptiness. What are you?

The only explanation—you are the feeling that everyone succumbs to one way or another. The feeling of having smoke inside your heart–smoke that just wont dissolve and turn into vapor, like everything else. 

So many faces and so many feelings they all hold and hide simultaneously. Emptiness–the feeling of lost sorrow. The feeling of never being alive–not even for a split second. Are you sadness? Happiness?

You are indeed the feeling of getting lost inside the same smoke that perturbs the heart and screens off the mind. The feeling of going on a shaky boat and not even being scared. But does that make you somewhat resemble being brave? Nay.

Brave is facing the open intense sea–you may not survive. You on the other hand are the feeling where one just sits on a shaky boat on a rough sea–not scared, not worried–yet making it out alive at the end–and not even ecstatic.

Emptiness–death before dying. Aloofness before pain. Harm before hurt. Blood before water. Tiredness after the storm has passed. But who cares. One simply puts emptiness aside–apart. And rejoices with the nature. Because see, nature is not empty. It holds secrets, luxuries and many many more things. But then–there is us. We, who are filled to the brim with a thousand and one dreams, hopes, fantasies and emotions. Yet–we are empty.

All of us! Like the stars..up above and faltering and alone and still shining. We look at them and are consumed with awe and fascination. Without knowing the cost and the effort and the force and the gravity behind their being up there. So we–just then suppress it all–shut everything tight inside us.

So tight that it creates a space–a crest–a hole—Emptiness.

We put a smile. And a brave face. We rejoice….with the rest of nature. And forget the empty hole…

But then we come back to life. Ha. Back to bedlam..back at last.

Alas dear heart….we travel back to the drudgery they call life. We all land right back in the empty hole–so we leave the blue sky behind..and fall right back in.

This is you Emptiness… And this is precisely me.

Dolefully Yours

Questions.

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You ever felt this way before? Had you ever so many questions to ask?

Questions about life. Questions about faith?

Questions about God. Questions about death?

There is confusion.

Questions.

There is destruction.

Questions.

Denial.

Questions.

Rotten with fear. Burning in anguish.

Mere contemplation.

Hesitation.

What is a question without a definition?

Till death do apart–is it a question or mere interpretation!

They die, so some go to heaven and others to hell.

Is it a fact or is it a question.

What is that force called, which changes the season?

If i say God, is it an answer or a question for a question?

Where does the tree come from.

Are we humans? But that is a joke.

Questions.

Why? What? How? Why?

The World Bleeds

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William Shakespeare made a point in Macbeth–the play that unnatural acts breed unnatural results. And that is exactly what is happening in our world, we think we cherish.

Look around you. What do you see? A life full of disasters and a world filled with human garbage. When God decided to create the world, the angels asked Him, why? For humans will destroy it–and were they wrong? Nay.

God said, there are somethings i know and understand better. I only ask, to get a small part if this understanding. Because humans are, i think, God’s worst creation.

Look around you. What do you see?

A world that bleeds.

And why does it bleed?  Because we as humans stab it again and again. and when we are done, we stab it some more.

So humans are God’s worst creation? Pardon the hostility but yes. Less good is ever done by us, than evil deeds. We seek the unnatural ways because that is what we are good at.

Why are humans, the way they are. Because their minds have corrupted over millenniums. The minds has been polluted. It reeks.

Look around you. What do you see?

A world that bleeds. We have nourished it with blood, smoke, grease and crime.

It cries–the world does. But we can not hear because we have become so loud. It is suffocated in our breath. It dies everyday.

Verily the earth bleeds.

Look around you.

What do you see?