Darkness descends on 22 Maple Drive
and so do a motley band of men & women.
With heads covered and eyes bent, they arrive
bringing shame in their stride.
Inside, a roomful of candles flicker
casting their gloom on the guests as they enter
one by one
and fortify themselves with liquor.
They know, in the ordeal ahead
It’ll be their only succor.
Sooner or later someone had to start.
A brave soul stepped forward to be the guinea pig
He said, with one last swig:
“It’ll smart, when we part
I don’t know how I’ll survive
Kept like this from her
apart.”
Another took up the tale:
“Could they be more perfect
our friends used to wonder
Then the unthinkable happened
and we were torn asunder as if by thunder
He, full of fury
I, full of misery
Brought on by an innocent blunder.”
And so, the confessions continue
A broken heart here, a forgotten spirit there
The stories are nothing new
and when it comes time for the review
with an understanding nod, a kind smile
do they the storytellers faith renew.
Now it’s nearing daylight
Just as they came, they all depart
one by one
so as not to give the neighbours a fright.
But mostly because
they know, solitude is their only right.
Showing posts with label Medium ones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Medium ones. Show all posts
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
God's Greatest Deed or: What the Owl told the Rabbit
A long, long time ago, God created our world. He then filled it with a multitude of wonderful creatures – on land, in the air and under the seas. He also created all manners of flowers, fruits and trees so that they may thrive and multiply. And his heart was gladdened when he saw all that he had accomplished.
But no deed, however great, is reward unto itself – even God needs recognition and praise.
So it came to pass, that He called all the creatures of heaven to look at his work and witness all that he had created.
And as He wished, so was it done. The Sun and the moon, and all the stars, along with all the angels from heaven came to look at the world, and all were awed by its many wonders.
But there was one amongst them who was envious. He could not abide the adulation the others lavished on Him. And so he spoke out:
“Your creatures are many, but they are not varied. All are meek and resemble one another. They will eventually run out of grass and fruits to eat, multiplying unheeded.”
But God, in all his glory, was not put out. He merely smiled, and then created all manners of predators. Surely the Cheetah’s speed, the Eagle’s skill and the Lion’s majesty would be enough to silence anyone.
But the one was not quelled. He again spoke:
“These are just dumb killing machines – they have no cunning, no artifice. Perhaps you can only create what you know, reproducing parts of your own qualities in these inferior copies.”
God created the Snake.
“Clever, but still a mere copy – this time of me. Let’s see you make a creature that surpasses them all in cunning and depravity of purpose. The greatest killing machine invested with the choicest of unholy qualities, so that it may bring all of nature itself to her knees. Then, and only then, will you be the true Creator.”
God created Man.
And that’s how the devil ensured the destruction of God’s greatest deed.
But no deed, however great, is reward unto itself – even God needs recognition and praise.
So it came to pass, that He called all the creatures of heaven to look at his work and witness all that he had created.
And as He wished, so was it done. The Sun and the moon, and all the stars, along with all the angels from heaven came to look at the world, and all were awed by its many wonders.
But there was one amongst them who was envious. He could not abide the adulation the others lavished on Him. And so he spoke out:
“Your creatures are many, but they are not varied. All are meek and resemble one another. They will eventually run out of grass and fruits to eat, multiplying unheeded.”
But God, in all his glory, was not put out. He merely smiled, and then created all manners of predators. Surely the Cheetah’s speed, the Eagle’s skill and the Lion’s majesty would be enough to silence anyone.
But the one was not quelled. He again spoke:
“These are just dumb killing machines – they have no cunning, no artifice. Perhaps you can only create what you know, reproducing parts of your own qualities in these inferior copies.”
God created the Snake.
“Clever, but still a mere copy – this time of me. Let’s see you make a creature that surpasses them all in cunning and depravity of purpose. The greatest killing machine invested with the choicest of unholy qualities, so that it may bring all of nature itself to her knees. Then, and only then, will you be the true Creator.”
God created Man.
And that’s how the devil ensured the destruction of God’s greatest deed.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Forest
She stumbles and falls. Once more, she hears the cry of the wolf. Oh, how she hated that nocturnal keeper of sorrows. How she hated his melancholy howl. And yet, here, where night is all anyone can know and daylight has no friend, he is the master and she his powerless slave.
Picking herself up, she moves on. Somewhere, in the distance, a tree is growing. She doesn't check to see the extent of her injuries. Human nature can get used to anything. Given enough time.
The night surrounds you here. It climbs up from the roots to the trees, through your legs, and takes your breath away, to replace it with something dark that clutches at your heart.
She sees a silver shadow in the distance. Ever promising a moment of light and joy glimpsed in a flash that lasts a lifetime. If only the unicorn would stay.
She wonders how she got here. She has no memory of life before this stop halfway to hell. And yet she knows there must have been more. Did reluctant hands and a helpless heart leave her here? Or was her loneliness the work of errant friends? Friends who moved on and left her here in the abode of night?
Vague shapes in her mind are all she has left of her friends. Mirages in her memory. The vain parrot-keeper of all secrets. The rabbit that was too scared to venture into the forest with her. And there was the eagle-her best friend perhaps. The eagle that grew wings and flew away one night. One night that has lasted till now.
But other friends are still around. She remembers with fondness the owl-her mirror in the night. But he's as lost as she is. Then there's the bear. But each time she runs into them , and others like them, she hears the wolf cry from the depths of the forest and she feels the darkness clutch at her heart once again.
On particularly lonely nights, when she can hear the winds of painful memories howling through the trees, and the rustle of the leaves blends into the cries of her lonely wolf, she wonders if perhaps the reason she is in the forest is herself. Maybe she walked into the forest driven by some inborn demons that spared lesser creatures.
Then one night she came upon the clearing. Lit up by some quality beyond mere light, she knew instinctively that this is where the silver unicorn resides. This is where she would find her salvation.
Many nights have passed since that fateful night. Some have been peaceful, others have been overrun by demons. Always, the cry of the wolf has haunted her. But the Unicorn has kept her company…rarely seen but always at the periphery of the clearing. Her ticket to the future. When the wolf inside her will be at peace and the trees will stop growing. A future where daylight won't just be a fading memory.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
H.A.T.E.
I hate the world, for all its people
And life, for its emptiness.
Work, for its pretensions
And God, for his followers.
I hate love, for its lies
And justice, for its keepers.
History, for our teachers
Religion, for the preachers.
Nights, for the insomnia
Day, for its length.
Friends for their absence
And doctors for their smell.
Relatives for their transparency
Children for their cruelty.
I hate time, for its elasticity.
Tragedies, for the comic-relief.
Bullies, for their fear
Movies, for the actors
Television, for the serials
Books, for the envy.
Smoking, for the smokers
Drinking, for the mornings-after
Jesus, for Paul
Ram, for Sita.
Faith, for its certainty
Music, for my inability.
Most of all, I hate me. For me.
And life, for its emptiness.
Work, for its pretensions
And God, for his followers.
I hate love, for its lies
And justice, for its keepers.
History, for our teachers
Religion, for the preachers.
Nights, for the insomnia
Day, for its length.
Friends for their absence
And doctors for their smell.
Relatives for their transparency
Children for their cruelty.
I hate time, for its elasticity.
Tragedies, for the comic-relief.
Bullies, for their fear
Movies, for the actors
Television, for the serials
Books, for the envy.
Smoking, for the smokers
Drinking, for the mornings-after
Jesus, for Paul
Ram, for Sita.
Faith, for its certainty
Music, for my inability.
Most of all, I hate me. For me.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Bess
She came from darkness into light. But it seemed more as if her very presence had vanquished the night, and set the little room aglow. Indeed, the brilliant white light seemed but a manifestation of her inner fire.
Such was Bess.
She knew truth, she had the answers. In her, lay Earth’s eternal salvation. She was God’s chosen one.
But Earth is no heaven. God’s messengers do not have it easy here. And so it was with Bess. Her own people had shunned her. Her neighbours had derided her, and her parents had driven her out. You see, her society was a rigidly structured one, and there was no place for heavenly messengers there. Even ones so obviously touched by the hand of God. Such is the lot of all true prophets.
But she hadn’t lost faith, and God had shown her the way. He revealed himself to her in a dream, and told her to go to the Others – the only ones capable of ruling the planet if her people were not ready for the Message.
The devil had tried his tricks with her then, sowing uncertainty in her mind and hoping to reap her soul in return. The Others were very young after all, and fragile. They were of little faith, and even less wisdom. All true. But they had also accomplished much in their short time, and there were a few among them who were capable of higher things.
The devil retreated, disgruntled. Such was her spirit.
Her journey had been a long one. And without the support of her people, dangerous in the extreme. But she had climbed over every obstacle with courage. And gone around a few, with wisdom. In the end, she had prevailed. And God had shown her the way – a devout family with an intelligent child who showed much promise for her age. They were the ones who were to receive the Message first. They were to be her first disciples, as per God’s wish. But she only wished to be a true friend. Such was Bess.
And so the moment had finally come. And she stepped out of the shadows, and revealed herself to the family. ‘Here I am, the messenger of Truth and God. And I bring to you salvation, the hope of heaven. Wilt thou listen?’
“Eeeeuuu!! Mum! A roach!”
And so did Bess become a martyr.
Such was Bess.
She knew truth, she had the answers. In her, lay Earth’s eternal salvation. She was God’s chosen one.
But Earth is no heaven. God’s messengers do not have it easy here. And so it was with Bess. Her own people had shunned her. Her neighbours had derided her, and her parents had driven her out. You see, her society was a rigidly structured one, and there was no place for heavenly messengers there. Even ones so obviously touched by the hand of God. Such is the lot of all true prophets.
But she hadn’t lost faith, and God had shown her the way. He revealed himself to her in a dream, and told her to go to the Others – the only ones capable of ruling the planet if her people were not ready for the Message.
The devil had tried his tricks with her then, sowing uncertainty in her mind and hoping to reap her soul in return. The Others were very young after all, and fragile. They were of little faith, and even less wisdom. All true. But they had also accomplished much in their short time, and there were a few among them who were capable of higher things.
The devil retreated, disgruntled. Such was her spirit.
Her journey had been a long one. And without the support of her people, dangerous in the extreme. But she had climbed over every obstacle with courage. And gone around a few, with wisdom. In the end, she had prevailed. And God had shown her the way – a devout family with an intelligent child who showed much promise for her age. They were the ones who were to receive the Message first. They were to be her first disciples, as per God’s wish. But she only wished to be a true friend. Such was Bess.
And so the moment had finally come. And she stepped out of the shadows, and revealed herself to the family. ‘Here I am, the messenger of Truth and God. And I bring to you salvation, the hope of heaven. Wilt thou listen?’
“Eeeeuuu!! Mum! A roach!”
And so did Bess become a martyr.
6X3
“The magic of discovery is not in finding new landscapes, but in finding new eyes with which to see them.”
Sitting in the darkness, contemplating stories with roaches for stars and human vices for subplots…where are we going, you and I? Heading inexorably toward some nameless destination, maybe our destruction, why do we rush so? Where did the excitement go, the wonder of it all? Now the only wonder left to me is to watch myself go through another day without a clue.
I set the scene carefully – not too much light, not too little. Story of my life. Perhaps a life lived in mediocrity is a blessing not to be realised until harder days fall upon us.
And then there’s the music. Oh, the music! Sometimes I do think I am sick of it – those carefully arranged expressions of other people’s creativity. Nameless strangers invading my mind with their experiences, leaving bits of their souls to fill the gaps in mine. And yet I do need them as much as they need me.
Locked in a 10ft.X20ft. room I sit, my mind enclosed in a 3ft.X6ft. home. When will I escape? Where would I escape to? The questions are endless. The answers may seem easy at first but then I realise they don’t answer anything at all. A tangled web of lies posing as solutions that neither solve, nor gratify.
What is it to live, if you do not think of the after life? Always lived for the future, and now that it's here, I do not know where I am.
And here I sit, dreaming up stories with roaches for stars, carefully arranging sentences and subplots to express my creativity – baring my soul on lined paper.
And the world turns around once again.
Sitting in the darkness, contemplating stories with roaches for stars and human vices for subplots…where are we going, you and I? Heading inexorably toward some nameless destination, maybe our destruction, why do we rush so? Where did the excitement go, the wonder of it all? Now the only wonder left to me is to watch myself go through another day without a clue.
I set the scene carefully – not too much light, not too little. Story of my life. Perhaps a life lived in mediocrity is a blessing not to be realised until harder days fall upon us.
And then there’s the music. Oh, the music! Sometimes I do think I am sick of it – those carefully arranged expressions of other people’s creativity. Nameless strangers invading my mind with their experiences, leaving bits of their souls to fill the gaps in mine. And yet I do need them as much as they need me.
Locked in a 10ft.X20ft. room I sit, my mind enclosed in a 3ft.X6ft. home. When will I escape? Where would I escape to? The questions are endless. The answers may seem easy at first but then I realise they don’t answer anything at all. A tangled web of lies posing as solutions that neither solve, nor gratify.
What is it to live, if you do not think of the after life? Always lived for the future, and now that it's here, I do not know where I am.
And here I sit, dreaming up stories with roaches for stars, carefully arranging sentences and subplots to express my creativity – baring my soul on lined paper.
And the world turns around once again.
Immortal
We are God’s middle children. Born into Man’s middle ages. Too late for heroes and rock stars. Too soon for eternal salvation.
There are no more world’s to be found, no more ocean’s to be navigated. The mountains have been vanquished, the skies conquered. The virgin forests have all been raped.
Where do we go from here? How do we find the light when we have forgotten the feel of darkness on our skin, in our souls?
How will we live, when man cures death?
I hurt myself just to feel alive. Like a lens focusing, the pain brings my existence to life. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
I want to run, the wind in my face, the devil behind me. I want to run, reckless abandonment in my stride and the exhilaration of fear in my veins. I want war, I want rebellion.
I want to die, but only as an immortal.
There are no more world’s to be found, no more ocean’s to be navigated. The mountains have been vanquished, the skies conquered. The virgin forests have all been raped.
Where do we go from here? How do we find the light when we have forgotten the feel of darkness on our skin, in our souls?
How will we live, when man cures death?
I hurt myself just to feel alive. Like a lens focusing, the pain brings my existence to life. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
I want to run, the wind in my face, the devil behind me. I want to run, reckless abandonment in my stride and the exhilaration of fear in my veins. I want war, I want rebellion.
I want to die, but only as an immortal.
In my twentieth year
I didn’t know a bawa from a tava
And I’d never heard of bawis.
The only Mac I knew was McDonald’s
And Reddy was a chap I went to school with.
I couldn’t tell the difference between a Muslim and a Christian
And didn’t know there was any, between Mangloreans & Goans
Today, I’m out in the real world
And know all this and more
And I’d just like to say:
Thank you to all my friends
Who shared my ignorance
Thank you to my teachers
Who encouraged it
And thank you to my parents
Who gave birth to it.
And I’d never heard of bawis.
The only Mac I knew was McDonald’s
And Reddy was a chap I went to school with.
I couldn’t tell the difference between a Muslim and a Christian
And didn’t know there was any, between Mangloreans & Goans
Today, I’m out in the real world
And know all this and more
And I’d just like to say:
Thank you to all my friends
Who shared my ignorance
Thank you to my teachers
Who encouraged it
And thank you to my parents
Who gave birth to it.
Writer's Bloc
I want to write. The ink flows freely, but the words do not.
I’m so ugly. But that’s ok, cuz so are you.
What do I say? How do I begin? This moment is the difference between genius, and a life wasted.
This, is Sparta.
The moment of creation, of birth. Everything could change tonight, if only the world would shift a little to the left.
I stand on the brink of greatness. And mediocrity. Tonight, is the difference.
Tonight, we die in hell.
Glory. Or eternal night. I can see the fork, but which one will my pen take?
One word, that’s all I need. A revelation.
Yea.
I can sense what is not yet here. I just have to dip into the stream and fish it out. But I cannot.
I need to write. I feel the night steal away, taking my destiny with it.
If I go crazy, will you still call me Superman?
How can you fear something that does not exist?
A portal into another dimension. A place where our thoughts have a life of their own. A stolen glimpse.
Sweet dreams are made of these.
It flickers. The trick is to watch with your eyes wide shut.
The creatures that live there are calling out to me. It hurts. It festers. It keeps me awake, and rules my dreams. It chokes me.
What kind of thought are you?
And still I wait for the word. A revelation.
I’m so ugly. But that’s ok, cuz so are you.
What do I say? How do I begin? This moment is the difference between genius, and a life wasted.
This, is Sparta.
The moment of creation, of birth. Everything could change tonight, if only the world would shift a little to the left.
I stand on the brink of greatness. And mediocrity. Tonight, is the difference.
Tonight, we die in hell.
Glory. Or eternal night. I can see the fork, but which one will my pen take?
One word, that’s all I need. A revelation.
Yea.
I can sense what is not yet here. I just have to dip into the stream and fish it out. But I cannot.
I need to write. I feel the night steal away, taking my destiny with it.
If I go crazy, will you still call me Superman?
How can you fear something that does not exist?
A portal into another dimension. A place where our thoughts have a life of their own. A stolen glimpse.
Sweet dreams are made of these.
It flickers. The trick is to watch with your eyes wide shut.
The creatures that live there are calling out to me. It hurts. It festers. It keeps me awake, and rules my dreams. It chokes me.
What kind of thought are you?
And still I wait for the word. A revelation.
Monday, July 10, 2006
No Rhyme, Just Reason
We could have been in love,
introductions got in the way.
We could have smiled,
fear got in the way.
We could have flown,
gravity got in the way.
We could have been beautiful,
appetites got in the way.
We could have made a difference,
a beginning got in the way.
We could have lived the dream,
mornings got in the way.
We could have been famous,
names got in the way.
We could have made it,
colour got in the way.
We could have been at peace,
God got in the way.
We could have created perfection,
but work got in the way.
We could have won,
economics got in the way.
We could have died,
love got in the way.
We could have been friends,
egos got in the way.
We could have been happy ever after,
but life got in the way.
introductions got in the way.
We could have smiled,
fear got in the way.
We could have flown,
gravity got in the way.
We could have been beautiful,
appetites got in the way.
We could have made a difference,
a beginning got in the way.
We could have lived the dream,
mornings got in the way.
We could have been famous,
names got in the way.
We could have made it,
colour got in the way.
We could have been at peace,
God got in the way.
We could have created perfection,
but work got in the way.
We could have won,
economics got in the way.
We could have died,
love got in the way.
We could have been friends,
egos got in the way.
We could have been happy ever after,
but life got in the way.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
“I wanted to clear our misunderstanding…”
The pain shot through me like an arrow. An intense, searing arrow straight to my heart. ‘This can’t be right’ I thought, as I turned to face her. That misused, shriveled up mass of hard lead shouldn’t have been able to feel anything. And yet it did.
The initial shock gives way to numbness as further words assail my ears. A twist here, a shove there, a delicate slice elsewhere – the conversation progresses.
Not that I didn’t have my part to play. But the numbness had spread to my mind by then.
“So yea. I just thought you should know how I feel. Goodbye.”
She left, leaving me on my knees, bleeding. From the kitchen knife sunk in my chest.
..................................................................................
I wrote this quite a while back. To those who know what I'm talking about, this has nothing to do with recent events. If anything, I am the one left holding the knife today.
The pain shot through me like an arrow. An intense, searing arrow straight to my heart. ‘This can’t be right’ I thought, as I turned to face her. That misused, shriveled up mass of hard lead shouldn’t have been able to feel anything. And yet it did.
The initial shock gives way to numbness as further words assail my ears. A twist here, a shove there, a delicate slice elsewhere – the conversation progresses.
Not that I didn’t have my part to play. But the numbness had spread to my mind by then.
“So yea. I just thought you should know how I feel. Goodbye.”
She left, leaving me on my knees, bleeding. From the kitchen knife sunk in my chest.
..................................................................................
I wrote this quite a while back. To those who know what I'm talking about, this has nothing to do with recent events. If anything, I am the one left holding the knife today.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Out here in the living planet
“Out here in the Living Planet we come to grips with life in all its ferocity… we see all the majestic power of God’s creatures… the Living Planet… out here, with me, we will meet life itself in the Living Planet…and…”
I watched, entranced, as the little man shouting these words leapt from continent to continent. Sometimes wading across the cold waters of Siberia. Now slashing his way unconcernedly through the forests of Africa. Now again, somewhere on the plains of India, surrounded by idiot natives gaping at his antics, and the colour of his skin.
And yet, while I watched, something in what he was saying bothered me, like a discordant note being played repeatedly by the idle finger of some musical madman.
A discordant note…what was it?
“Out here in the Living Planet…”
Where was I then? And where he?
As I sat there, watching him cross continents at the whim of an editing machine, I realized that to him, I and all the others who were moments ago getting our daily dose of indifference, and are now being subject to him, are not in the living planet. To him, we’re the ones through the looking glass. As surely as he is the same to us – ethereal, made of light.
But isn’t there more to it? Has he ever been a part of this ‘living planet’ to which I have membership?
Oh sure, he must have been living at some point. When he was struggling to reconcile his parent’s expectations with his dream of being an actor. When he was wandering the long road to success, with obscurity and failure awaiting his every misstep. Sure, he must have known what it is to live once.
Or have I got it all wrong? Is he truly the one living now? Living his dream. Wandering from place to place, with the firm conviction that millions across the world tune into his words and are affected by his view of life in some way, never realizing it to be a figment of the producer’s greed and the statician’s necessity.
But perhaps that is the life. It may not be the ‘real living planet’ but where is that to be found anymore? All of us live our dreams in one shape or another. The chosen few, like him, live a beautiful one. The ordinary, like you perhaps, are trapped in their nightmares.
And then there are the rest, who merely flip channels when the commercial’s done.
"We now return you to our regular programming..."
I watched, entranced, as the little man shouting these words leapt from continent to continent. Sometimes wading across the cold waters of Siberia. Now slashing his way unconcernedly through the forests of Africa. Now again, somewhere on the plains of India, surrounded by idiot natives gaping at his antics, and the colour of his skin.
And yet, while I watched, something in what he was saying bothered me, like a discordant note being played repeatedly by the idle finger of some musical madman.
A discordant note…what was it?
“Out here in the Living Planet…”
Where was I then? And where he?
As I sat there, watching him cross continents at the whim of an editing machine, I realized that to him, I and all the others who were moments ago getting our daily dose of indifference, and are now being subject to him, are not in the living planet. To him, we’re the ones through the looking glass. As surely as he is the same to us – ethereal, made of light.
But isn’t there more to it? Has he ever been a part of this ‘living planet’ to which I have membership?
Oh sure, he must have been living at some point. When he was struggling to reconcile his parent’s expectations with his dream of being an actor. When he was wandering the long road to success, with obscurity and failure awaiting his every misstep. Sure, he must have known what it is to live once.
Or have I got it all wrong? Is he truly the one living now? Living his dream. Wandering from place to place, with the firm conviction that millions across the world tune into his words and are affected by his view of life in some way, never realizing it to be a figment of the producer’s greed and the statician’s necessity.
But perhaps that is the life. It may not be the ‘real living planet’ but where is that to be found anymore? All of us live our dreams in one shape or another. The chosen few, like him, live a beautiful one. The ordinary, like you perhaps, are trapped in their nightmares.
And then there are the rest, who merely flip channels when the commercial’s done.
"We now return you to our regular programming..."
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
And then the ink ran dry
On nights like these, I feel equally close to greatness and insanity. On the brink of madness, I fling my arms out, ready to take flight. Or plunge to everyone’s doom. Is this delusion of grandeur? Or the elixir of Supermen? Perhaps it’s whatever I want it to be, and I don’t have a clue.
On the halfway point between insanity and greatness, I pause. The forks clear but my path isn’t. I hear it in every empty laugh sent echoing across the deserted house. I see it in the monsters lurking in the dark corners. I recognize it in the fly I just killed. I drink it out of my fridge everyday.
My pen says “Experience the Power Within” and the ink has run dry. I still continue to write. The patterns on the floor fascinate m…
On the halfway point between insanity and greatness, I pause. The forks clear but my path isn’t. I hear it in every empty laugh sent echoing across the deserted house. I see it in the monsters lurking in the dark corners. I recognize it in the fly I just killed. I drink it out of my fridge everyday.
My pen says “Experience the Power Within” and the ink has run dry. I still continue to write. The patterns on the floor fascinate m…
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Disjointed
It's like awakening from your dreams. Except things aren't the same as they were when you went to bed. It's like awakening from your dreams, into a different world. It's like awakening for the first time.
This world was built for giants, not squirrels. But life makes squirrels of us all.
So busy gathering twigs to build the shelters for old age, the summer of youth passes away. Unnoticed and unacknowledged. All that I could, or almost could be, lost in the pages of books never written, lost in the verses of songs never sung.
The lands have been discovered, the stars breached, the elements conquered. Where do I turn to for inspiration? For divine intervention?
I wish I were alive.
This is no story. Nor yet a piece of poetry. This is a plea for help. This is a dark room, a strange bed. This is a mind struggling against itself. This is not me. This is not you. This is us.
Heroes
Something I wrote recently...still a work in progress, so keep an open mind...
Tonight we're heroes, my friend. We're the reason, the means, and the end - you and I. Tonight, at the bottom of this mountain, we met our destiny. And at the top, we shall make a new one. For each other. And for every man, woman and child that will step up with us. Step up into the new heaven. One made by mortals greater than Gods, built of stone harder than
I see the fear in your eyes. See it, and feel it too. The climb is a difficult one, and the will is weak. The darkness immeasurable. But what are these, to the thing that awaits us at the top? Do not fear the journey my friend, for I have glimpsed the destination. It is a thousand times more vile than this rock, a thousand times darker than this night. Do not fear my friend, for we are doomed.
When death is a certainty, what is fear? Stand up and embrace it, as you would your saviour. For it shall set you free. It shall remove all your bonds, unshackle your very soul. It shall put fire in your veins and lightning in your mind, when the moment of truth comes. At the top is our destiny waiting to be written, and death shall be our bedfellow through eternity.
The climb is a long one, but do not weaken. The enemy is strong, but do not despair. For tonight, we're heroes. Truth will be our shield, and righteousness our lance. The vile shall not touch us, nor the ignominious stop us. Listen to me, for I shall be alongside you as you face the rock. And I shall be alongside you as we force our destiny. And I will give you wings as you go into the battle, and I shall lift you higher when you fall.
Listen to me, my friend, for I shall be you.
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