Weblog
26/06: A rare night without turmoil.
Late night.Ethereal sound of strings caressing my soul.
Peace.
12/06: Broken
He startled awake to the shrill cry of the alarm clock. He looked around at his surroundings, trying to get his bearings. As the familiarity of the room sank in, he let go of his breath is a weak sigh. The images of him playing his lute, with the Dryad moving her lithe body to the rhythm of his music were still dancing vividly in his mind. He was hit by a sudden pang of loss as it dawned onto him that it was just a dream.. a beautiful dream.. a figment of his imagination.. a result of his mind trying to come to terms with what has happened recently. He brushed away the tendrils of the dream caressing his back of his head, as he got up to start the day in the real world.He looked into the mirror as he was brushing his teeth. A pair of listless eyes stared back at him, framed by dark eye circles that spoke of dried tears and heartache. He clenched his teeth unconsciously at he realised that the strange man with the sunken cheeks and a week-old stubble was his own face. He turned on the tap and splashed water on his face vigorously, trying in vain to rinse off the memories and pain.
When he stepped into the kitchen, the cats meowed at him, demanding breakfast.
"A sec." He answered as he took a can of Heineken from the fridge and took a long swig from it. The girl rubbed herself against his ankle, stared at the empty food tray, and turned her attention back at him, meowing impatiently. The boy sat there silently, looking at him expectantly.
"Ok. Ok." He replied. He took the plastic jug and poured the dried cat food into the tray. The girl jumped in excitement and swiped the jug from his hands. The jug slipped from his trembling hands in slow motion and landed on the floor with a soft thud, scattering the cat food over the floor. He stared at the strewn food, losing his grip on his resolve.
He sank slowly on to the floor, burying his face in his knees. His composure broke, as he hid his face in his hands and wept, his body wracked with waves upon waves of heavy, silent sobs.
22/03: The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
~Oriah
En savoir plus ...
14/10: washed away
The tears finally flowed. All the dreams and plans of building our own beautiful world together flowed with it.. away.. into the vast ocean..12/08: Farewell
She had always been a figure of authority, tall, stern and unsmiling. I remembered the tiny booklet, where she would record my wrongdoings, and made me sign on it, before meting out punishment, which would leave me sobbing with long throbbing welts decorating my bottom. She was always strict but seldom unreasonable. As a kid then, I always made it a point to stay out of her way as much as possible till night comes.He would usually arrive home from work by around ten. He would greet her with a hearty laughter, which never failed to melt her stern mask. If he was not tired after his shower, he would dangle his car keys at his kids mischievously. A few of them would immediately shoot their arms out to volunteer to go get supper with him. Those days, a car ride was considered a luxurious adventure.
En savoir plus ...
