Who would
Who should
Who does
Whose will?
His?
Hers?
Up there?
Down? The voices rambling. Drowning. Despair? Maybe. Sadness? Too strong a word.
And it starts again
This mourning
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Saturday, March 13, 2010
***Note***
no post for the past 20 days or so.
It just got too painful to write.
Would just try. And face this pain. And to be truthful.
It is getting better.
Only when one lets go of desire to possess. Of ego.
Add some compassion.
Then the love would be pure.
It just got too painful to write.
Would just try. And face this pain. And to be truthful.
It is getting better.
Only when one lets go of desire to possess. Of ego.
Add some compassion.
Then the love would be pure.
The Dark Shadow
A shadow.
Resides. In his heart. Opaqueness of the shadow, with a fleeting lightness. Its always there. With fleeting lightness, undetected.
It is this lightness that makes it easier. That he does not know of its existence.
He could simply pretend that it is not there. Like a Oscar nominated best male lead. Smiling at the world. At a bliss that is hard sought.
This shadow has a special ability though. It rears its head, slowly. Then suddenly. Devouring all in its path. The air smells damp. The taste of food dulls. The world becomes a ashen grey.
He tries.
Tries hard. To be happy. Though it is hard.
Fighting the dark shadow. Even when he feels he wants to be truly happy, this blanket of ash. Descends. Coloring everything.
WHY?! Do you take joy in taking away this happiness?
He crumbles and kneels. Face buried into his palms. The smell of nicotine wafts. Wafting. The heart burns.
The shadow goes back, sensing the need to strike a balance. It needs a container. It cannot kill the container. Tormenting just enough.
Waiting.
Resides. In his heart. Opaqueness of the shadow, with a fleeting lightness. Its always there. With fleeting lightness, undetected.
It is this lightness that makes it easier. That he does not know of its existence.
He could simply pretend that it is not there. Like a Oscar nominated best male lead. Smiling at the world. At a bliss that is hard sought.
This shadow has a special ability though. It rears its head, slowly. Then suddenly. Devouring all in its path. The air smells damp. The taste of food dulls. The world becomes a ashen grey.
He tries.
Tries hard. To be happy. Though it is hard.
Fighting the dark shadow. Even when he feels he wants to be truly happy, this blanket of ash. Descends. Coloring everything.
WHY?! Do you take joy in taking away this happiness?
He crumbles and kneels. Face buried into his palms. The smell of nicotine wafts. Wafting. The heart burns.
The shadow goes back, sensing the need to strike a balance. It needs a container. It cannot kill the container. Tormenting just enough.
Waiting.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Broken.Smile
Truth be told, he is a broken man. Lying crouched in a fetal position. Like that of a broken man. On the cold marble floor, his life ebbs away. Of a man stabbed, with multiple wounds and blood flows freely like a fountain of wine.
Gushing away, like strong undercurrents, contrasted to the energy left in this man.
Someone save me. He says. Though he knows that only he can save himself.
Strange how no physical pain is ever more painful than affairs of the heart. A self inflicted prison that cages the mind. Sapping away life energy.
He turns, and stares at the blank white ceiling, the shadows on his wall waves. He feels his body, nope no wounds. Then why fuck does it hurt so bad. The shadows wave again. Must be going crazy. Might as well say hi. He waves back. Lying flat on his back, he feels the cool cold floor.
Just like his heart.
He could see his life manifest in front of him. The flickering of a light. Gently swaying. To the left and right.
His heart is broken, his soul is broken. He is handicapped and there is no prosthetic for that. He lays there and hopes maybe a beam of white light would take him away. He stares hard. Stares a bit longer. Nope. Not happening.
The hacking is starting again. The lumberjacks. Hacking away at the trees inside his heart. Ravaging. He could hear the chainsaw.
Oh well, he thought. Let them be. He closed his eyes, hoping to dream. Of a sojourn with a glimpse of her.
He smiled. At that thought.
Gushing away, like strong undercurrents, contrasted to the energy left in this man.
Someone save me. He says. Though he knows that only he can save himself.
Strange how no physical pain is ever more painful than affairs of the heart. A self inflicted prison that cages the mind. Sapping away life energy.
He turns, and stares at the blank white ceiling, the shadows on his wall waves. He feels his body, nope no wounds. Then why fuck does it hurt so bad. The shadows wave again. Must be going crazy. Might as well say hi. He waves back. Lying flat on his back, he feels the cool cold floor.
Just like his heart.
He could see his life manifest in front of him. The flickering of a light. Gently swaying. To the left and right.
His heart is broken, his soul is broken. He is handicapped and there is no prosthetic for that. He lays there and hopes maybe a beam of white light would take him away. He stares hard. Stares a bit longer. Nope. Not happening.
The hacking is starting again. The lumberjacks. Hacking away at the trees inside his heart. Ravaging. He could hear the chainsaw.
Oh well, he thought. Let them be. He closed his eyes, hoping to dream. Of a sojourn with a glimpse of her.
He smiled. At that thought.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Name
What is in the name of a rose that smells just as sweet.
A name is just a name. Or so he thought.
Of the many people with the same name, of the hundreds and thousands out there. This name is just a construct. This particular name of this particular person.
The Name. Of 8 English letters. Or 19 Chinese strokes.
Names. Values that man give. Meaning that is borne out of the scribblings. The time the person is born, the gift of parents to the child. Life is given to the name, when it is spoken. And it represents the person.
A name is still just a name. Or so he thought.
He wonders why, two simple words, could still affect him. The Name
3 times at the dinner. 1 time during training. Mentioned so casually and randomly by others. The intonation and inflection of how The Name came out from their mouths. As sound waves reaching his ears. His brain processes that sound.
With it came emotions, that threatened to flood. Like a dam that threatens to break. Torrents of emotions.
A name is really a name. Or so he thought.
He felt awkward. Slowly the awkwardness turned into inconsolable sadness. Humans are strange creatures!~
How he would give, just to call The Name out again. With affection and fondness.
Just for a brief moment his heart stopped. When he heard The Name
Just for a brief moment, he called out loud. Shouting silently. Echoing in the depths of his heart.
Just for a brief moment, he thought he saw her turn. Though it was just a wistful mirage. Hooks etching into his heart, tore away this haze.
A name is just a name. Or so he thought.
The Name. He may never call it in her face again.
That is what saddens him the most.
Tobaccoss Part One
A nicotine high.
He takes a deep draw from his cigarette. Deep draw, deep breath, long puff out. Whooooooo, the smoke rings and clouds fogging the vision temporarily.
He looks at the half smoked cigarette in disgust.
Truth is he already quit this terrible habit. Excuses! Some might retort. Why are you still smoking?
The not so beautiful reason is he wants to remember her. It brings him back to the times when she tried so much to stop him from smoking. Puts him into contemplative reflective soothingtive mood.
As the vision fogs, the memories slip in. Magic smoke!
Another puff, multiple memories. One cigarette is not enough to relive the memories. He chains another one. FUCK. He shouts. In his mind.
Cussing? For what again? Just another way of expression. Of a feeling? He can't remember much.
One thing is for sure. Cigarettes make him happier. Just a remembrance of a point in time past.
Just let the man have his smokes.
Or memories
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