Saturday, October 7, 2017

The Traveller

A full moon stares down onto a traveller as he wanders the earth from town to town. He stops and stares back for seconds whenever he feels lost. The earth rotates, days come and days pass by, mornings follow evenings, seasons alternate and the journey resumes. A never ending road to an unknown destination and he strolls along full of mixed feelings. Everything is temporary and the end is only the beginning. Pages turn, buildings crumble down to the ground, people leave, love fades and we fall to rise and tumble to learn the definition of steadiness. An uncertainty preoccupies him. His steps unsure, his heart in doubt, his mind foggy but he keeps going. His downward gaze causes him to miss how beautiful the sun looks as it sets. He refuses to look at the horizon during the day as if maintaining chastity and staying true to the moon.  One night, and as the night sets in with cruel cold, he loses sight. It's pitch black, vast, and silent in a deafening manner. For the first time in years he slows his steps to an awaited halt. All guards down he lets his tears drench his face. The moon is no longer looking and he can no longer keep pretending like he is ok. His tears are warm against his cheeks and he is numb amidst the surrounding cool atmosphere because of the fire that burns deep down within. He realizes his worth and realizes that even the moon had passed him by. When everything boils down to a moment of truth, he was left in vacuum, a suffocating empty space. His spirit was nevertheless lifted. After all, you can only gather what remains and fly after breaking on your way to the bottom. Some say he was saved by angels, others say a spell was cast on him, but in reality, there is no  teacher better than sour experience. He learned the hard way, the good old way that all things in life are to be taken lightly. No one makes it out alive. He learned that he was enough and he learned not to regret being who he was or how the moon made him feel about himself. The next day rays of sun pierced into his soul through his eyes. They were brighter than ever and felt warmer than ever. He closed his eyes for a minute taking it all in. The gift of life, as impossible as it may be, is about enjoying simple matters and paying attention to fine detail. He smiled vulnerably, brushed his hair to the side, took in another volume of air into his lungs and started walking. This time a bit steadier, a little more confident, and with an extra dollop of pride. Strength is born the day you welcome pain with arms wide open. Pain tunes out fear when you let it out the right vent. Pain became his best friend and he held it close to his heart and before his eyes. The awaited evening set once again without a moon and so for a week. By now the traveller was onto a sprint. He ran for as long as his body could keep up. His soul was too fast for his human being. He kept going, avoiding the moon and it's distracting light. The moon was no longer complete yet it was still as beautiful as ever. The sun's scorching heat was his soothing savior every morning until the day he met you. Nothing could save him now, nothing but pain. He has grown older and wiser over the years.  He knows what this is, where it is going, and how it ends. With arms wide open, once again, he stands in a welcoming reception. You are the one thing he cannot escape, you are the hurricane in a storm of memories, you are another ace of spades dealt to him by fate, another painful blessing. He shakes his head in disbelief and stares into your eyes seeing a future he can swear he could almost touch, the mirage that'll leave him thirsty after a decade of drought. As once before and as always, welcome.

Friday, May 8, 2015

A Soul Touched By You

The quiet afterwards, the flashing of memories, the echoing of laughs, the falling of tears, and all the moments that make goodbyes unbearable. No matter how planned they are, their effect can never be accurately estimated. People come and go, but what they've done to you is what lasts. What lasts are those times when they've pushed you further or held you back. It's the words of encouragement or the words of belittlement. It's their looks of trust, their empowerment or their looks of disgust and discouragement. What lasts is the body of feelings buried within your soul that resurges with the memories stirred by the aches of separation.

Winning is a journey, a story to be told. What we win is all the time we've spent together preparing for the moment of truth. It's how we have helped each other stand the test of time, and how we have followed into the inevitable road to separation. It's the fire that you've built in me that keeps burning despite the blowing winds of your departure. It's the new me that I have become, it's the pieces of you that I hold so dearly close to every insecurity I have ever had to keep me calm, steady, and strong. I rise and stand after a time when doubt had successfully blinded me from seing beyond the fog. The search was hard amidst all desparity and the feelings of lonliness and fear were starting to conquer me. However, I've been saved by a shadow striding steadily towards me. A shadow escorting me through the dark, cold and uncertainity. Never revealing itself to me completely throughout the process, yet leaving me behind, when the time had come, able to see even when vision is obscure. You left me with hope. You've awakened my might, my power, and my pride from amidst the dust.

These words you may never know of. Indeed, you may never know, but I shall never forget you my mentor. I shall never forget your approaching shadow. Goodbye and Thank You...

Friday, March 7, 2014

Imaginary Lover

Words cram amidst my throat, jamming my airway. I swallow hard, forcing the lump down. My heart gasps, drowning, drenched in all those bottled up feelings. There's no more room and the pressure keeps building up. I close my eyes trying hard to feel your imaginary hand receiving my face. I shiver as I try to shake off that zap of electricity. Lyrics of a sad song play in my head as I lay thinking of you. I don't know how this is even possible, thinking of someone you've never seen nor heard. I've heard imaginary friends are fun, imaginary lovers though, I'm not quite sure. Somewhere between dreams and reality we've met. Time hadn't stopped but I have. I stopped and stepped away from everything familiar just to be with you. Walking straight through a tunnel, expecting to see the light every now and then though never reaching it. I find it hard to look back because it feels like I have come a long way, yet I've grown a thousand years staring at the darkness that lay ahead. I'm alone when it comes to reality but I've loved the illusion of being in your company. You're in my head, a piece of narcotic imagination, fed by the fire of desiring you within my heart. A heart I've once lost touch with, a heart that seemed to connect only with you my imagination. Won't you come tonight? It's been a while, and despite the fact that you've been away, I'm expecting you. I prepare the songs we shall dance to, and the words we shall exchange. I prepare for you a better version of myself, one that's more patient, wiser, surprisingly forgiving and filled with infinite love for you. I prepare our fairytale. Complicated, but I get it. I've lost myself to you. I've lost misrably my ticket back to reality. I've lost to my imagination. Banned from all means of reaching out for you, I find myself at your door. Staring at a cold wall I bleed all sorts of emotions, hoping that mercy would bring about some life into that wall. Hoping you'll somehow hear me behind that wall. I listen carefully but I can't hear you say that you love me. I stare into every face but I fail to recognise your complexion. I grasp hold onto elusive air but you are no where near tangible. You're not here but you are, you must be my imaginary lover. You must be because I couldn't be part of nothing. You must be because I couldn't have submitted myself to no one. You must be because I couldn't have fallen in love with imagination. Or could I? Echoes of that last thought reverberate across space and come back at me, exposing my kind of logic to myself. Or could I? No answer, no thoughts, no reflections whatsoever. A mere fact I'm faced with. Too good to be true, or too true to be good? Please, I plead and beg, then refrain from further squashing my dignity.  Still no answer, no matter what I do. No matter what I do I lose to you. Perfect art, secrets of drawings buried with the ingenious artists, leaving the entire world wondering, burning with curiousity and at best  guessing. You're perfect art my imaginary lover. Secret beyond resolution and perfect beyond flaw. On my knees, I stand before you in admiration, again abandoned. The thought of "normal" makes me laugh. Why can't I be normal? Why settle for normal when I've been where no one else had ever dared to set foot. Afterall, madness doesn't seem so mad. Do whatever pleases you. I will be me, I will be the greatest love your heart ever knew. I'm worn, beaten, and in my simplest form, yet torture can no longer be inflicted upon me. I've grown immune. Being stripped to the core, stripped of flesh and blood, I'm left with bone. Resilient, remaining right where it had been buried. A proof of the existance of the caracess that had once roamed amidst the living. So do as you please my imaginary lover, do as you please. Many have lords turned into slaves but never have mountains bowed to winds.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

An Amputation

Surgically speaking, an amputation is a very messy procedure. It's a determined decision. We cut everything from the skin all the way down to the bone. The point is we don't stop. In an amputation, there's no going back.

We are not butchers. After all, to take a major decision like this, as surgeons we have to have really good reasons to do so. Taking something that GOD has given away from someone, is by far one of the most difficult things to do.

''Sir, this leg is dead. Even if stays, it won't be of use, it will as well take your life if you don't allow us to interfere. I understand how difficult it is for you to have to make this decision, and I feel your pain, honestly. However, if it were possible this dilemma is to be solved in any other way, I wouldn't have procrastinated sincere efforts to save the leg.'' Maybe that sounded like something that came out of Grey's Anatomy (the series), but it's not. It's reality. Decisions like these are very difficult to make. Yet once the reasons are obvious, benefits outweigh risks, and once the decision is made, we cut.

Not once have we stopped in the ORs and tried to reverse an amputation. The minute we grab hold onto that blade, we are 100% focused and determined to sever everything. Even bone doesn't get in our way when cautery and blades fail. We saw the bone. We get the job done.

The last time I checked, I have had an amputation. I wake up every day ever since that day and I see a stump. I have amputated you. Please, do not come back asking me for a reversal. Dead amputated limbs don't come back. You were a great gift from GOD, and the hardest blessing to lose, just like a limb, but the decision has been made and dead amputated limbs just don't come back.


It feels like I'm traveling to an entirely new and different life. In an airplane filled with strangers, I remain quiet as I listen to subtle melodies on my iphone. Meanwhile, a load full of thoughts drain me from all energy. I find myself watching my life flash right in front of my eyes. Memories from this morning force a smile on my face and drench my eyes with tears. I noticed that I love my life and that I already miss it. I noticed that the airplane seats were occupied with stories. Airplanes are no different from bookshelves, I thought to myself. Though, I was only able to see book covers through the eyes and attires of the many elderly surrounding me, I felt really proud of my own story, a weird form of self-satisfaction I haven't previously experienced. I felt like a masterpiece, GOD's very best creation, not in a sense of superiority, but in a sense of tremendous gratitude. I am swamped with acceptance. The past 6 months were far from easy, and I feel like I can finally see the light. It feels like sunrise, fresh, true, comforting, warm, and very personal. Seems like everyone here is going back home, to where safety is, to where one feels self centered. At first, I thought I was heading home too, or at least I wanted to believe so, however, I found out that home is where I had just took off. It was in the arms of a loving mother no matter how ill, it was in the inches of land I set foot on every morning no matter how dry, it was in the time I spent living a life, making something out of myself no matter how exhausting, it was in the arms of an amazing soulmate, and in the memories amidst foolish childish behavior with friends no matter the fights. I am flying many miles above the ground, floating, though neither distance nor time mean anything now.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Blink my Cursor, Blink.

My cursor blinks, looking right at me with anticipation, like a child filled with curiosity as eager and impatient.  What will you write next? A poem, a thought? How far will you take me? A paragraph, a page? It, however, manages to wait, loyal for as long as forever. It stands there at the end of every letter I type, pleading for me to type more, to push it farther along the line, like a slave high on abuse. It marks the beginning of every story untold, and marks the sour end to them too. It's a tongue, liberating speech and thought. It's a heart, beating efficiently. It's a lover, coming back after every departure. It's a guide, cutting a road through blankness. It's a voyager, leaving a trail behind. It's a leader, right at the frontier, ready to push the army of words behind it an extra mile for the win. 

I cannot but respond to it's blinking, looking at me with puppy eyes. I cannot but feel a necessity to compose for it's loyalty. I cannot but respect its bravery and applaud its ways, and so I type. Allowing it to take me to where I never would have been able to go alone, to a new line, one after another. It's my number one fan, my shelter, my challenger, my salvation, and my muse. We share the obligation to tell, like a bed, common grounds, that I can simply no longer ignore nor turn my back to. A couple, we build a home, weave a plot, and create a world of our own. The relationship between us refuses borders, boulders, restraints, and infidelity. Therefore, I must be true, and what it asks of me must ensue.

Blink my cursor, blink, and let us sail away across a new sea full of adventure. Blink away, blink, and unravel a new world, a new truth before our eyes. Blink today, blink, and affirm a present full of promise. Blink again, blink, and push all efforts that seem to be tiring. Blink my cursor, blink, and let there be writing, let there be history, and literature, and life.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

The Night

  Sleep had eloped with all of my dreams, and I have become a dreamless insomniac. Often I'd find myself alone with the night. We'd remain quiet for hours. At times, I get bold enough to confront it in silence, while at others, I'm way too discouraged, and I hide amidst piles of work in more silence. It's beautiful, my relationship with the night, and it's simple, unlike everything else going on in my life. 

  With tunes of a beautiful cello and piano to my ears, I close my eyes in the arms of the night, and we dance. It takes me away, hiding me far from the chaos of the morning bustle, from my fears, and my responsibilities. I love it, and how it grants me much attention. There's only me amidst the night, only I am wrapped tightly in its black cloak, only I am held so closely with tender love and affection like no other, yet again in overwhelming silence.

  I paint all sorts of colors and hope into a future that remains unknown yet seems exhausting, as my eyes remain closed. The night watches as I do so with a peaceful grin, nodding at how young I can be. Then, I'd let out sighs of relief and gratitude knowing with certainty that the night listens with patience to all of my unspoken misery. To me, it's just magical having the night all for myself stealthily like a mistress. There's just a tasty spice to it, something beyond my capability to understand, something my feelings though constantly demand, a silently perfect lover.