the lake

 

tranquility in solitude is something that i could never really fathom. appreciating my moments alone is as important as a shared experience. the beauty of the lake and the mountains surrounds me as gather these thoughts. - as it pleases the eye it also pleases the heart and the mind - i thought. the soft breeze makes the branches of the pine trees shake and the sound of the cicadas spread out through the park. it's summer and it is warm and sunny. the two shades of blue between the sky and the lake are only interrupted with the stone grey and olive green of the mountains around us. nature should cradle me to sleep and her lonely tranquility. that is really something i could never bear because im always expecting your voice to fill the gaps of my silence - i muttered.

Against

The gusts of air coming from the desert had proclaimed my futures. They were as desolate as I had foreseen. - no surprises there – I muttered. – what if I can’t escape this penitence? – i muttered again, afraid of being heard only to realize that I was completely alone in this sea of sand and its silence was as overbearing as being in the middle of a angry mob or a trial from my peers.

Stumbled footprints were erased behind me as fast as the sweat accumulated on my brow. I tried to gather my bearings but the unmerciful heat had me doubting my navigating skills. The curse of knowing better had no weight here, not a single plan or carefully logical clairvoyance would make a difference now. It’s just me and nature, battling out on the millennial stage of survival and by the looks of it, the scale was not tipped in my favour.

The gusts of air were again singing their lullabies and enticing me to further stray from my path even though deep inside I knew that these songs were nothing more than a mirage. And there I was, stumbling towards these dreams regardless of every inch of me saying otherwise.

kafka

closing that door was hiding the silent pain of retreat and repressing the servitude with pride. i would never be same, i swore. and here i am, babbling and dabbling with my own thought that i so hard subdue. to little or no effect.but not the same. immutable formula of metamorphosis where the rearranging of mind follows the heart and vice-versa. where once a mould stood lies now an imperfected piece, rearranged and forged from other selves. where are the defects now, now that i am whole but not intact. where i am sound but not sane.

vomit

as the convoluted train of thought gives way to the perception of reality

i clench my thoughts as if they were my hands

i decode our language to the bare choke of tongues

like babel's apocalyptic demise where words begat mere sounds of disgust

where the reason becomes emotion and my actions become my path

i realize there is only the extinction that will envelop what i once was 

vile taste of distrust in oneself as i hope to reach the event horizon

shadowed

are you there? if so, let me know somehow. yes, i do know that you have never replied so far. at least not in a traditional way. but endless questions do pile on, because i always considered my actions neutral upon myself.  so tell me those answers. i feel entitled to them as so much faith was placed before in you.
yes i am here. what do you mean i never replied? well let me reassure you in more traditional way. does writing work for you? implying neutrality is a mistake considering that if anything you are biased by your own instinct and therefore any answers i might reply are tainted and flawed. we all place beliefs in dreams but no one should be accounted for wishful thinking.

or so i thought.

kintsukuroi

how can i question the empyrical if i dont break away from conventions? on every beat of existence, the drive of our survival ensures that we plough through and reinvent ourselves.

how can we find reassurance if every option brings forward a multitude of hypotheses? because at every moment of reflection, a new hope of success presents itself, even if it only exists in our dreams.

how can i search tranquility through quietude, if i always wait to hear your music between my moments of silence? no other language can soothe a broken idea more than the melody of your smile bestowed upon me.

karma

how much will i have to pay? are tears or apologies the right currency? how many hours must be given to remorse or doubt? how many lifetimes must we live? tell me the measure of time, the measure of my debt.
surely i have done horrors before to deserve such punishment. but i do not remeber these faults. all i can recall in this ephemeral passage of millions of seconds, are particles of  troubled memories. relative spaces and places that no longer generate force and drive.
if such pain is the norm, why should i bear this burden? who bestows upon me such grievance? how can i get rid of it, or to aspire a cathartic effect in redeeming myself? if that is needed at all.
so far i always felt this everpresent omen because in the end, what we are is what we have done before; and as is his will, so is his deed; and whatever deed he does, that he will reap.