Landless

I breath out the eluded spheres
Crystal balls of the dark remain
I’m surrounded by painless spears
Not a feeling in flesh, no pain
Running low under thickest shadows
Tribes enclose me in trance of motion
I race back through the naked meadows
Leave the firm for the vast of ocean
Rushed attempts to gulp in liberation
Suck me in with the vessel’s rubble
Cleansing dark under light temptation
Limbs are begging for right to struggle
Shiny mermaids forge absolution
Freeness vowed by comforting deep
I escape this reverse evolution
Back to shore with no face to weep...

Fire, fire

I see your sky is coming down
with the same color as mine
Oh, it seems to me
you and I are not safe to combine...

So you sit right in front of me, the pupils of your eyes bright, the flashes of your smile sincere, our thought exchange meaningful... once again. I can’t help but wonder, what should I do with you? Should I put you in my pocket and carry around like a notebook full of quotes from a read I want to remember even as I put it away? Can I keep the book itself or will the life library charge me life if I don’t return it 30 days from now? Should I close the book as soon as the words I want to hear become a distraction from what life says should be heard and done or can I flip the pages for just a few more bittersweet hours till the candle buns out and the dawn strikes my eyelids with the sharp awareness of reality that’s so unreal? Can the book be recycled after pages were torn out, torn apart, thrown in the trash and taken out just to be used as tablecloth in the attic of secrets, to cover things that would otherwise embarrass the collective perception with their nakedness?

Or maybe, just maybe, I can put it in the drawer by my bedside and make it my Bible, and take it out each day for a stroll on a path where flowers are grown not of seeds but of minds, and the rain is soaked not by skin but by spirit itself. Maybe I can keep it in the inner pocket of my jacket as I take a bus ride on my escape route from life, seeking the inexistent yet place where the hearts above guide the stalled ideas below, leading them away from being as told to be by life, reminding them to listen instead to the whisper of the single shivering leave on the tree that grew upside down in the most real of afternoon dreams.

Even though this chapter of us may be the shortest one yet, all that matters is how much meaning we are willing to put in each word, how loud we are eager to yell over the gray habitual buzz to help the world hear our voices, and how high we’ll strive to fly to touch the rainbows... even if only once.

...As thousand days roll by
Come for it
Come for it again.


Lyrics used in the post: Fire Fire by Asha Ali

Confessions

Cold, cold water
Surrounds me
...
Lord, are you here now
Lord, are you here now
Or am I lost?

* * *

Time passes and you forget what you felt and how you felt it. Your mind blurs the edges of kind thoughts, takes the warmth out of feelings and mutes the innocence. It replaces them with cold sarcasm and piercing looks that say, "I don’t care." They are lies reflected in the sparkling mirrors of nightclubs, hurting your eyes more than those they don’t look at.

Sometimes you have to take yourself to the point of a light shock to realize there’s electricity in the waters. Sometimes you have to cross the line to see where the line is.

Neither following the rules of the game, nor refusing to do so after you got yourself into the very middle of it, nor coming up with your own rules that were already invented in the form of Russian roulette... none of that seems treacherous at first. You draw the line between pretentious and real. You know better than to let them get in each other’s way. As long as you keep your core strong, this too shall pass, right?

Or will it?

Can it stay and remind you there was time with nothing in it? Will having all of it on the surface and nothing inside eventually come back to haunt you? Will you even care by the time you are done having your fun, failing to recognize which parts of it were unreal?

It’s when the hollowness of the air around you gets into your lungs and stays for a moment, that you choke, and realize how dangerous it is to let it come this close to your heart. That is the time to stop snoozing through minutes and days and get back to the essence of things. That is the place to stop, clean the mess in your head, pack up some thoughts you didn’t need in the first place and put a box labeled ‘past’ into a remote storage, where you can’t reach it, were you won’t be able to use it, ever again, to validate your actions… to justify not being you.


Lyrics in this post: Cold Water by Damien Rice
Currently listening: to a friend talk :)