eND oF THe LiNe

Well it's all right, riding around in the breeze
Well it's all right, if you live the life you please
Well it's all right, doing the best you can
Well it's all right, as long as you lend a hand

You can sit around and wait for the phone to ring (End of the Line)
Waiting for someone to tell you everything (End of the Line)
Sit around and wonder what tomorrow will bring (End of the Line)

It's been a long time since I last posted anything here and I am guilty of being lazy or just too busy to dream. Yup, dream.

Dreams are what our world is made off, the dreams of someone somewhere, not here. Everyday we grow up or rather taught to follow our dreams. A dream it is to follow your dreams because in the end nothing really matters.

I thought I nearly gave up on the blog and just voicing myself out. Its easy, now that I have been out a while, to get lost in the "race". You try to survive, you try to live it... and all in all you forget to live.

Infact talking about living...

So it just so happens that we live in a world where acknowledgement does not exit anymore or maybe it just seems so. How we lose out on everything that has been gifted, worked for, paid for... work to get a better bargain - for what? In the end nothing matters, so why all the fuss?

SoMe NiGHTS

Some nights she just lies on her back wondering, and other nights she sits by herself with a glass of wine untouched. A drop of tear that refuses to release sits on her left eye, the right eye filled with resolve. She didn’t have to. But she did.

She was told as a child how to live, not by her parents – they were liberated and brought her up to be an angel of her making, by everyone around her. But she made her way, swam against the current. Isn’t that the way men are told to live, to really live it up? Well she did it by herself without anyone telling her how to do it. Pretty like a princess beautiful like a woman, complete like the moon she rules over, she is everything a man desires and yet solitude seems to woo her ever so often.

Today she sits in front of the mirror staring at her nudity. Where is she ugly, she searches…? Where is she flawed… why does it seems that she’s undesired, a distance from everyone. Today be the New Year and she sits by herself in the apartment, alone… the walls closing in on her. The same walls scribbled with notes and messages from friends… lots of support, but she still is alone. People screaming down on her from every corner, if the earth were corners… She sees nothing, staring at the ceiling which blocks the stars which were her friends while growing up. Standing she sees nothing. She is bare and open and nothing. So why is it her fault, why is she alone, why does solitude woo her every night. Today she cannot hold herself any longer and the tear that held on ever so loyally to her eyes trips to her cheek. It wasn’t pretty like the princess that she is, neither was it beautiful as the woman she is.

She weeps a river and the only witness is me. Today she is beaten. Death seems lurking in the back of the room, but stands there paralyzed with fear, I don’t know what to do. Death loves her but I would never ferry her across to the other side. Death weeps in the corner for I know this was one seed I planted to be reaped for rich gains and today I see her wither and bent. I didn’t need to see her this way and it breaks the very same being that I stay away from. The want of being physical, the want to touch her, comfort her, but my touch is death. Death wants to become human and love her for life, she doesn’t have to be alone, but he vowed to live the life of a hermit and collector of souls. I cannot take it anymore, at a corner of a wall with a thousand faces and shares I feel the warmth of my tears… 10,000 souls cringed.

Her life will be decided by her, she resolves. She looks at the walls around with all the smiley faces and pretentious notes, vying for her attention but not there for her. They call themselves mates, friends and family but where are they today when I feel death stand behind me?

“What are we living for? Isn’t it all meaningless, isn’t life meaningless, without meaning… don’t we put our purpose. Its our purpose, life is meaningless. In the end of time I will be six feet under and all that will be left of me is nothing. This that I see beautiful in the mirror is just a vessel and if the wall that closes in on me were to judge the vessel and not the captain that floats it, I don’t sail the shallow waters.”

She picks her tears which is now a white so pure, cleansed by the being so bright and beautiful. Something inside her radiated a blue to cure the tears so transparent to pure. She flings it around with a step, skip and a hop and her tears fly all around her and paint the wall of smiles and shares. The faces on the wall cannot take the purity of the tears and they fade into nothingness like the oceans of the constellation from a distance a glass of milk.

I see her, a recreated self. No identity for she sees herself the way she is and not. Pure sublime, every hair, every mole and the radiance of the skin, the warmth of her breath and the moist of her lips, pure and beautiful.  Death beats a retreat and the 10,000 souls in their pain play a brass band for a soul got saved.

Some nights she just lies naked with herself, surrounded by the whites of her walls. Shared a brilliance authentic of a self, that is her. The walls still have a few faces, smiling, she doesn’t mind these faces and there she finds her friends and LOVE.