Imagination is dangerous. But life without it is lethal. Thus, I end this blog with a story.
Once upon a time there was a girl who talked to the moon. It was her nightly ritual. One night, she asked the moon to give her a shallow mind so that she won't get hurt anymore.
"Why would you like to have a shallow mind? Don't you want to understand life more deeply?" asked the moon.
The girl was astonished. "We don't have to understand life. It is not worthy to be understood at all," she replied.
"Don't you know that your depth is a gift? Not everyone is blessed with that," said the moon.
"Yes it is a gift, and a curse as well. Because of it people laugh and throw stones at me. I just want to be like them. I just want to be happy with simple things. I don't want to get hurt anymore. Because of it, I feel intense emotions all the time that I feel like I am always bleeding inside", the girl complained.
"Very well, as you wish. Tomorrow when you wake up, the depth will all be gone," said the moon.
The next day, the girl woke up and participated in a meaningless activity called routine. Everything had changed.
She stopped talking about her nightly dreams of ancient Persia. In fact, she stopped having any dreams at all. She could not stand reading books anymore because she would now prefer sitcoms. She worked and worked for money to buy the things others also bought. She dressed like others and like them, she talked about the weather and who kissed who as if those were very important to her. She would laugh even at a dropping of a hat. She cared more about how she looks because she was afraid to lose her newly gained friends who accepted her into their groups.
At work she was given orders and she acquiesced without even questioning why she had to follow those orders. Everyday became a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy and so on. And it would not be surprising to tell that she stopped talking to the moon. In fact, she forgot the moon's existence. She knew there was a moon but that's just it.
The girl was contented and happy. She could not complain. Everything in her life was perfect. No more worries and anxiety. No need to think at all.
Seeing all these, the moon wept. It wept nightly that it would be covered with dark, heavy clouds. It lost the girl who was really dear to it. It lost the girl to mundaneness. But then, there were still others.
One day, the girl came across another girl whom the moon was also having conversations with nightly. She noticed that this girl is strange in her entirety. The girl was being laughed at and mocked. People threw stones at her. But that girl didn't mind at all. She just simply stared at an empty space infront of her oblivious of what was going on.
The girl confronted this eccentric girl and told her how pathetic she is but the strange girl seemed like she can't hear anything at all. She just noticed a particular luminousity in the strange girl's eyes.
"What are you thinking? Can you hear me?" she asked the strange girl.
The strange girl looked at her and said, "Do not disturb me. I am talking to the stars."
At those words, she felt a pang somewhere inside her.
Talking to the stars? It sounded familiar. What was it? Why can't she remember?
So the girl went away and proceeded with her beloved routine. But from that day onward, she started becoming unhappy. Everyday she felt that there was something missing or lost, she just couldn't remember. She started feeling hopeless. It happened everyday that she longed to put an end to her misery.
She decided one day to tie a noose around her neck while the other end of the rope is attached to a branch of a tree. It was at the woods she preferred to end her life.
It felt horrible. She was struggling so hard but there was no going back. She only felt her nimble feet dancing through the empty space while she gasped for air.
After like a century of torment which in reality was just about a minute, there was nothingness. Then she felt it. There is no doubt she felt it. The feeling doesn't have a name. At that same instant, she can only see one thing on her mind. A silvery white circle across the night sky. It was calling her. And she felt like she was going home.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Of Unrequited Love and Irreversible Resentment
There is no love- there never was and there never will,
Only the ever growing hunger for flesh and blood subsist.
Yet that carnal famine had been a one- sided blindness
Misplaced on things one couldn't resist.
Oblivious as you are, you had been a stabbing knife
Razing a feeble, almost dying decency,
Turning it into a wild and malevolent outrage-
Adoration transformed into a ghastly villainy.
Isn't it enough to be deprived of such contentment?
Why did one bring oneself to the ground?
How will one look at oneself again?
Will exaltation be ever found?
I know not if one is tender or one is tough,
But this I say to myself- it is enough!
Only the ever growing hunger for flesh and blood subsist.
Yet that carnal famine had been a one- sided blindness
Misplaced on things one couldn't resist.
Oblivious as you are, you had been a stabbing knife
Razing a feeble, almost dying decency,
Turning it into a wild and malevolent outrage-
Adoration transformed into a ghastly villainy.
Isn't it enough to be deprived of such contentment?
Why did one bring oneself to the ground?
How will one look at oneself again?
Will exaltation be ever found?
I know not if one is tender or one is tough,
But this I say to myself- it is enough!
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Pandemonium
11
Consumed by the flames of her fury, her heart was shattered severely. And at that point, the pure blackness of that vengeful spirit has governed all her will and deeds and has purchased her existence- mind and body. Fair shake, she decided, is something she has to take in her own bloody hands. This is the violent story of our dearest friend, Vengeance.
10
She has a dragonfly. She heartily tears away its right wings. She sets it free encouraging it "Fly, fly!"- but it woefully strains to fly. She picks it up and tears away its remaining wings and she says to it "Fly, dragonfly, fly!" - and she will rejoice beholding the dragonfly on the ground striving to fly wingless. And she would do the same to them. She would not kill them, she does not kill. She would prefer to be filled with satiety in condemning the objects of her abhorrence to despair. Her name is Hatred, in her purest form.
9
Though at times driven by impulse, she had always been a carefully laid plan. She loves to dress in crimson perfumed with a lethal scent. She has assumed different versions of herself through time yet the hand that held the knife has always been her most sophisticated form. She's the coward's kiss or the brave man's sword. How cunning, how refined yet how vicious she is. Behold Murder, the mistress of tempestuous and wicked souls.
8
She graciously swooped down like an angel dissipating the aroma of infection and decay she brought about her. Everything she touched instantly crumbled into putrefaction. Every place she left was not without stark eyes fixed on an empty sky. And now, the angel of annihilation called Plague, will spread again her wings.
7
She has a knife and she is the knife herself, which perpetually stabs while you sleep or turn your back on her. She cradled Trust in her arms and ran away- a madwoman stealing an infant. She brought the child in the woods where they were alone. And she savagely devoured the child. This deranged woman named Betrayal, now saunters aimlessly in that desolated woods.
6
She uttered a hollow, eerie shriek which flagged her advent. An oppressive silence followed. Suddenly, millions dropped dead on the ground- men,women, children, elderly- all have that same frozen, haunted look of gaped mouth and lifeless eyes. It was a vast uncovered cemetery of bony and deteriorated bodies plagued by incessant and unrelieved churning of the gut. This is her- that banshee called Hunger. This is her signature.
5
One of the arch- seven, this wild spirit is deemed as an unstoppable amorous wind. She blew away all sorts of sweet nonchalance in every faultless soul. She had spread the itch of vileness through her scent of infection. She has a profane womb- a breeding ground for all souls ever rotting in perversion. The bearer of the seeds of corruption, say hello to Lust.
4
Dancing in tumult and conflict, our heroine is at her best. Her fierce character manifest itself in her greed for slaying thousands of brave men. She wears sword, gun, gun powder, tanks, air bombs, mines and so on. She welcomes everyone in her lair, the battlefield. Meet Ares' original wife, War.
3
She watched her neighbors and something irked inside her. She wanted them- their lives and everything they have. If they had not have those things, she wouldn't desire for them. It was merely because of the fact that her neighbors held those things that she ached for them. She would then thought to herself what great injustice the world had done to her. A member of the arch-seven, Envy had always been a strange creature.
2
She appears to have a sense of leadership thus, she is deemed to be the leader of the arch-seven. But she's nothing more than a leviathan of ego and a deficiency of true grit. But we need to place her in a pedestal. She needs that. Always. Right, Pride?
1
Earth has no pain which she cannot take away. She has always been the one patiently waiting at the end of the line. It does not matter how long she waits but every being, certainly and inevitably, falls into her arms in his or her right time. Most fear her for her countenance is unknown to them. Some seek her gentle hands. It's up to her for if it's your time, she never fails to come. I hope you won't meet yet the angel with the most ravishing face- Death.
Consumed by the flames of her fury, her heart was shattered severely. And at that point, the pure blackness of that vengeful spirit has governed all her will and deeds and has purchased her existence- mind and body. Fair shake, she decided, is something she has to take in her own bloody hands. This is the violent story of our dearest friend, Vengeance.
10
She has a dragonfly. She heartily tears away its right wings. She sets it free encouraging it "Fly, fly!"- but it woefully strains to fly. She picks it up and tears away its remaining wings and she says to it "Fly, dragonfly, fly!" - and she will rejoice beholding the dragonfly on the ground striving to fly wingless. And she would do the same to them. She would not kill them, she does not kill. She would prefer to be filled with satiety in condemning the objects of her abhorrence to despair. Her name is Hatred, in her purest form.
9
Though at times driven by impulse, she had always been a carefully laid plan. She loves to dress in crimson perfumed with a lethal scent. She has assumed different versions of herself through time yet the hand that held the knife has always been her most sophisticated form. She's the coward's kiss or the brave man's sword. How cunning, how refined yet how vicious she is. Behold Murder, the mistress of tempestuous and wicked souls.
8
She graciously swooped down like an angel dissipating the aroma of infection and decay she brought about her. Everything she touched instantly crumbled into putrefaction. Every place she left was not without stark eyes fixed on an empty sky. And now, the angel of annihilation called Plague, will spread again her wings.
7
She has a knife and she is the knife herself, which perpetually stabs while you sleep or turn your back on her. She cradled Trust in her arms and ran away- a madwoman stealing an infant. She brought the child in the woods where they were alone. And she savagely devoured the child. This deranged woman named Betrayal, now saunters aimlessly in that desolated woods.
6
She uttered a hollow, eerie shriek which flagged her advent. An oppressive silence followed. Suddenly, millions dropped dead on the ground- men,women, children, elderly- all have that same frozen, haunted look of gaped mouth and lifeless eyes. It was a vast uncovered cemetery of bony and deteriorated bodies plagued by incessant and unrelieved churning of the gut. This is her- that banshee called Hunger. This is her signature.
5
One of the arch- seven, this wild spirit is deemed as an unstoppable amorous wind. She blew away all sorts of sweet nonchalance in every faultless soul. She had spread the itch of vileness through her scent of infection. She has a profane womb- a breeding ground for all souls ever rotting in perversion. The bearer of the seeds of corruption, say hello to Lust.
4
Dancing in tumult and conflict, our heroine is at her best. Her fierce character manifest itself in her greed for slaying thousands of brave men. She wears sword, gun, gun powder, tanks, air bombs, mines and so on. She welcomes everyone in her lair, the battlefield. Meet Ares' original wife, War.
3
She watched her neighbors and something irked inside her. She wanted them- their lives and everything they have. If they had not have those things, she wouldn't desire for them. It was merely because of the fact that her neighbors held those things that she ached for them. She would then thought to herself what great injustice the world had done to her. A member of the arch-seven, Envy had always been a strange creature.
2
She appears to have a sense of leadership thus, she is deemed to be the leader of the arch-seven. But she's nothing more than a leviathan of ego and a deficiency of true grit. But we need to place her in a pedestal. She needs that. Always. Right, Pride?
1
Earth has no pain which she cannot take away. She has always been the one patiently waiting at the end of the line. It does not matter how long she waits but every being, certainly and inevitably, falls into her arms in his or her right time. Most fear her for her countenance is unknown to them. Some seek her gentle hands. It's up to her for if it's your time, she never fails to come. I hope you won't meet yet the angel with the most ravishing face- Death.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Of Raving Devotion
Thou shall not destroy me, I shall not wreck myself.
'Tis a violent altercation within me.
Thine are the cruelest damnation-
What life- solely at your mercy!
Nay, 'tis not, there is a Deity up there-
Who looks upon my colossal misery,
And is it not just here that I suffer-
Suffer all because of thee?
Ah, wretched as I am, my heart was pure
Thou has come and tainted all my hope,
Too much havoc grew in me-
A havoc of extensive scope.
Fare thee well, wearisome devotion,
I prefer a noble exaltation.
'Tis a violent altercation within me.
Thine are the cruelest damnation-
What life- solely at your mercy!
Nay, 'tis not, there is a Deity up there-
Who looks upon my colossal misery,
And is it not just here that I suffer-
Suffer all because of thee?
Ah, wretched as I am, my heart was pure
Thou has come and tainted all my hope,
Too much havoc grew in me-
A havoc of extensive scope.
Fare thee well, wearisome devotion,
I prefer a noble exaltation.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Death of the Child
The mere child had died that night
in that cold room in that lifeless hospital.
The child had died because she was forced to be an adult.
She was watching the woman who had bore her
lying in that comfortless hospital bed-
weak, weary, unconscious, dying!
So the child had to die.
The child had to die.
in that cold room in that lifeless hospital.
The child had died because she was forced to be an adult.
She was watching the woman who had bore her
lying in that comfortless hospital bed-
weak, weary, unconscious, dying!
So the child had to die.
The child had to die.
Madness
I'm shrinking one minute, I shrink more the other
As I drown myself in this burning spirit drink
And here you are screaming into my ears
Words. Yes words. Words? Words.
All I hear are words of mere madness-
Disguised as exclamation of affection and love
But those are words of mere madness-
Useless as they are to cure the pain in my chest.
Our lives will never be story-shaped as we expect
It takes more than bleeding dry to fly high
We will be shrinking into a big black hole
And all left will be the final sigh.
They say we have to live life to the fullest-
All I hear are just words of mere madness.
As I drown myself in this burning spirit drink
And here you are screaming into my ears
Words. Yes words. Words? Words.
All I hear are words of mere madness-
Disguised as exclamation of affection and love
But those are words of mere madness-
Useless as they are to cure the pain in my chest.
Our lives will never be story-shaped as we expect
It takes more than bleeding dry to fly high
We will be shrinking into a big black hole
And all left will be the final sigh.
They say we have to live life to the fullest-
All I hear are just words of mere madness.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
. . .
She was intensely absorbed in reading an odd book one late December night. Then she heard three faint knocks on her door. "Who's there?" she muttered, her voice failing her. Only three faint knocks again answered her. She stood up and walked to the door with a foreboding of something evil. In a hell-for-leather manner, she opened the door. A very cold wind brushed against her face. It was darkness. Nothing more.
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