Summer has come and gone,
And the fragrance of these soft memories,
Hang heavy in the air.
Leaving traces of a life I once had,
Lingering on in the touch of your breath,
Fleeting, always fleeting, never to be caught,
These memories I have tried so hard to hang on to.
I recently watched a movie, Where the Wild Things Are, and I felt it was one of the most wonderful movies I’ve watched lately. Though it made me very sad, because somewhere I could relate to Max, except the ending, where he at least finds a reason to smile. Well, the following has been influenced a bit by the movie, though not completely.
Today I feel unwanted, my eccentricity,
Pulling me down under the waves of life.
I am sorry, I couldn’t be better.
The waves of the ocean, so beautiful,
Glittering like diamonds lost,
Taking the weak, leaving the strong.
I tried to be the ruler of the world,
To take away all the sorrow and pain,
But I could awaken only false hopes and dreams.
The sands, coming from eroding stone,
Swirling in the yellow desert,
Until no sands are left at all.
I thought I could bring happiness into your life,
By building up a world for me and you,
A world you thought you could only dream of.
The mountains and rivers,
And boat rides down the hill,
It’s a beautiful world you wished to builid.
I tried hard, with you by my side,
To build up from scratch, this paradise,
Which was supposed to bury all the sadness and pain.
The owls go circling up overhead,
Giving advice when asked in seven words,
But I could not understand how to spread smiles.
And I am sorry, dear friend, for letting you down,
Disappointment hangs heavy above you,
I am sorry I couldn’t be the one to bring you happiness.
I must say goodbye, leave you to pick up,
The pieces of your life I left disarray,
But please know, I shall always love you and miss you.
I go sailing to a land far away,
But I have no home to run back to,
Forgive me dear friend, for leaving you a mess.
A bloodless strife hung heavy in the air,
The strain of which left me weakened.
The flash of anger, the screaming,
Were reduced to echoes in my head,
As I silently watched the blood drip,
Down my hands, like blade on ice.
The world gave a shudder,
As the will of my being broke apart.
It was the wounds that tore me apart,
Growing like a cancerous tumor.
The scars of loving you, never quite erased,
Off the face of my stitched up heart.
Oh the anger, it was always the anger,
Or it was the psychosis of my mind?
The lands cracked under pressure,
As the strain of living, deep inside, surfaced.
Weary grows the idle mind, weary with rust,
The cracks deepen, till it crumbles into dust.
When was the first weapon planted,
Deep beneath the layers of this love?
It was a silent killer, slowly spreading like a virus,
Until it consumed all there was to take.
The oceans fight a raging storm,
The ship is sinking, down, down it goes.
There remains no structure to lean on,
No spark of life to keep me hanging.
Falling, I am falling, deep into the ocean,
As the waves crash me upon the rocky shore.
Your voice whispers inside my mind,
“It was only the calm before the gathering tempest.”
The bullets shoot across the battlefield,
I was hit long before it rained.
Life is a battlefield, which never sleeps,
For even in dreams, the bombs fly artfully.
The haunting sound of your silence overwhelms,
As I writhe in pain, waiting as the tears stream down my face.
If only you understood the working of my mind,
Or maybe I was the one who never saw the torment of yours.
The volcano erupts in a flare of burning vice,
Smothering completely all in its path.
Your scrutiny of my being, of my body, mind, and soul,
Was only a dissection of that which you do not know.
For you never chose to see me as more than a shadow of myself,
But termed what you did see as the body of a shadow.
If you see the fire as a form of destruction,
You will only have the ability to destroy.
And destroy you did, with your single act of kindness,
That fine thread which tied my heart to yours.
My only sin was to love you unconditionally,
But the price I am now paying.
I shall not love ever again,
As long as I take this breath of mortal life,
For in me is dead, the fire of life.
Only empty cold stone continues to exist.
He was a man who calculated the value of all
With the weight of paper and metal.
I must go on, as life is a gift far too precious,
A gift I would discard,
If only I could weigh it out with gold.
But life is far beyond the tangible we seek,
It can never be bought back,
Nor can one life be replaced with another.
He was a man who knew no sentiment,
Except for that of his own.
Must I feel for my entire life,
This agony I feel slowly poisoning my heart?
It seeps beneath my skin, burning like acid,
Killing me softly,
But only in the mind and soul,
As my body lies untouched.
He was a man who had everything one could want,
But valued nothing except the immaterial.
I am physically alive,
What good is a body enslaved by mental pain?
No, I am dead in every aspect,
Dead as the rotting wood in the backyard,
Dead for the maggots of the mind and heart to take over,
And eat, till nothing of me is left.
He was a man who was a victim of greatness,
Such that he could see nothing beyond himself.
There is only an emptiness,
A void were life should have been.
The noise of the vacuum becomes deafening,
As it grasps onto every aspect of my life.
This broken heart has consumed all,
Such that even the bowels find themselves empty.
He was a man who towered over giants,
The very giants who made him a man.
Where tears should be, I have only dry cheeks.
Where a smile paints itself, the paint runs dry.
Where passion should be, exists only apathy.
Where love should be, only indifference is supplied.
For it is the emptiness in me which speaks aloud,
Emptiness which lives, and which shall die.
He was a man who knew no boundaries,
Save for the limitations of his empty heart.
I can feel a phantom pain where my heart should have been,
The heart which was torn out
And shredded a million times over.
This empty pain shall be with me always,
Haunting me till the ends of time,
As once amputated, it can never be regrown.
He was a man who knew how to live,
But never knew the feeling of being alive.
What is this emptiness which has consumed me?
Leaving behind regrets for me to feed on,
And I am pondering, wondering, where did I go wrong?
But the answers remain hidden.
And so I live a mere shadow of a life,
All because my only sin was to love you unconditionally.
He was a man whom I once dared to love,
Until he chose to leave me forsaken.
Some days I look upon the sky,
With a singing in my heart.
Some days the singing turns in to
Voices I once sought.
“Leave not, leave not!” in despair,
My heart does always shout.
Alas, in the end,
You’re gone my friend,
In the end you’ve left without a thought…
The despair, the agony, the pain of living,
How difficult it is to endure.
My heart longs for this last breath,
As the distance darkens between us.
Was it too much for me to ask,
Or only too much for you to give?
My grief has blinded,
Taken away even the faintest glimmer of light,
As the world falls asunder.
The dawn brings no warmth,
Twilight brings no chill,
And I am falling deeper,
Into the depths of dolorous passion,
As I close my eyes one last time,
And take this final breath…
Sinking deep into my solitude,
Longing for a future I can never have.
The past echoes my feelings,
But the present sings an alien song.
Hope poisons this broken heart,
Clouding this mind.
This is the end my friend,
Somewhere along the woody roads, the icy cold streams of one’s imagination can be heard, beckoning the unknown to come forward and take a plunge into the night. The woods are a lovely place, for it is where the earth comes into existence, where the earth becomes a fountainhead for all the beauty, for all the life, for all the wonderful things that nature has given us.
The song birds chirp happily, letting the song of their heart diffuse into the air, until a faint fragrance of life itself hangs lightly in the atmosphere. The Spirit of Dreams descends into the forest and brings with him the dust of hope, sprinkling it onto all that can be touched, and the soft glitter of this dust warms the heart and brings to it solace from the storms of everyday life. Silken threads of sleep bind us and gently lay us on the forest floor to become one with the meaning of life, and bring to us the cravings of our hearts. What would we be without nature’s dust shimmering in the twilight bringing ease to our minds?
The streams are made of crystals, sparkling like rainbows formed at the first shower of spring. Like cubes of ice, the water slips off the tips of our fingers, leaving traces of a frigid freshness. The golden fish glide through the silver moonlight, catching the rays on their fins as they dance to the music of life. The river cleanses all the dirt in our souls, leaving us at peace with a polished heart of gold. The water heals all that it flows over, and the blood of our hearts is returned. The water spirits smile brightly on the river bed.
The wind locks the trees in a dance inescapable, bringing to life the heart of the woods. The leaves rustle, the branches shake, and the blossoms fall, making a carpet at our feet to lead us softly into the heart of its dreams. Butterflies flutter, playing games with the ancient and wise trees, laughing as the leaves fall softly to the ground. The leaves are Mischief himself, harmless but fun, shading us from the moonlight, and letting in the sunlight at noon. The trees admonish these little fluttering leaves, leaving a mist of their breath hanging loose in the air, waiting to fall onto our eyelids as we sleep. Oh, dancing leaves, swaying trees, keep the world at your feet and protect it.
Dewdrops on the mossy floor glisten at the crack of dawn, like embedded diamonds singing the song of their soul. Each flower having flavored dew, attracts the honeybees to sing softly, whispering in their ears. The drops on the grass bring to the musky Earth a gift as they trickle down the stalk. The dewdrops bring a promise of life renewed, a life we have only dared to dream of. As the day does progress, growing older, unto death, the dewdrops slowly disappear, with a vow to return at the rebirth of a new beginning. They are tied to the dawn of a new day, the birth of a new start, these dewdrops of my heart.
Sadly, the beauty is fading fast, merging into the artificial pseudo-ecstasy, the temporary intoxication given by the most lethal of drugs. The song of life grows fainter at every passing moment, as more of nature is taken away, to heed the addiction of the material world. If only we could learn to live in harmony with the life around us, if only we could respect this special gift, this gift of nature, the elixir of life and death. There is no intoxication, like that of nature dwelling in our hearts.
‘Twas the song of a solitary nightingale,
The sadness and beauty satiated the air with warmth.
Ne’er hath this heart within me been so lively,
As when thou looked into mine eyes and saw my soul.
Oh, this evanescence of beautiful dreams,
Had they lingered even the length of a moment longer,
Their beauty would have faded into the night,
Leaving a soft mist in place of these dreams of mine heart.
When I dream of thee in the wisp of the night,
I feel thy presence around me, e’en in mine heart.
And I wish the night stretches on for eternity,
That I might feel thy friendship wrapping around me always.
Thou art the cherry blossoms in early spring,
Showering this earthen beauty with thy soft petals.
The branches heavy with thy goodness and love,
And a promise, in the heart of thy admirer, for a new dawn.
The reflections on the flowing river, of a sun recently risen,
The birds singing their morning songs of joy.
Unquenchable thirst for time to come to a standstill,
Mine heart divided between my wish and the will of thy mind.
Thy voice lingers in the air, my thoughts inundated by thee,
My voice beckons thee to hold me in thine arms.
I wait, eagerly, desperately, to hear the faintest reply,
But the silence, so deafening, returns me not a sound.
The moonlight illuminates, when the sun hath set,
Only thy voice can brighten the shadows of mine heart.
Silently I pine in the darkness, for a glimmer of light,
Fading, falling, into these endless depths.
If thou hadst known the turmoil of mine heart,
Would thou hast left me more than the touch of thy breath?
Nay, to thee, I was but a stranger, no different from another
To me, thou wast mine only reason to smile.
Let me die in thine arms,
So the death I die may bring to me happiness.
I could have thee not in this life I lived,
Might I have thee in my death. I love thee so, my dearest one.
Thou art all I wish to touch,
Thou art all I want to see,
Before these eyes close forever.
Love me dearest, before I go, For I shall love thee for all eternity.
Hold me before I die dearest, hold me please,
Before my last breath tears us apart silently.
I still remember the day these photographs were taken. It seems like another life or a dream too good to be true. It was a dream too good to be true. Those were the happy days, that are no more.
‘Twas a soft song in the air,
That whispered dreams into mine ears.
Butterflies stroked the summer rays,
With the beat of their gentle wings.
These dreams did fill mine heart,
With little joys meant to disappear.
The warmth of the wildflowers,
Did touch this lost soul from within.
The softness of thy voice,
Struck a chord in mine heart.
Thou lovingly tuned the strings of my soul,
And made me thy muse much loved.
The sky blushed from adoring innocence,
As the music of mine heart hung heavy in the air.
The sweetness of thy song,
Filled my world with everlasting hope.
Honeybees suckled in pools of nectar,
Flowers grew brighter at every passing day.
Dewdrops on the grass glistened in the morning,
Dancing to the melody that filled the sweet air.
Thou played thy muse so lovingly,
In tune with the song of thy heart.
Ne’er hadst the world heard such love,
Sung from the common core of two souls come together.
Thou wast an artist, in love with thy instrument,
Caressing her strings gently, lest they break.
All were in awe of thy heart’s warming music,
Most of all thy own muse who sang.
Thou ne’er let another touch her,
She sang only the will of thine heart.
A queen she was, in the palace of thy verse,
Thou inspired reverence in her eyes.
With use, the best of things, wear out,
As didst the muse of thine heart, thy love.
An instrument old, is meant to be forsaken,
Yet thou didst not wish to give up thy love.
Artiste thou wast, thou art, thou shalt always be,
Thine heart wast ne’er mine, but of thy talent.
If only, mine heart could be an instrument more skilled,
Might thou ne’er hast left me.
Sadly, ’twas a time long ago,
Now the strings of mine heart lie broken,
The once magical muse abandoned.
An instrument unskilled for the artist,
Has no fate but everlasting silence,
As the virtuoso finds himself a muse better suited.
Alas, this muse forsaken, heartbroken, forgotten,
Lays down to sleep, forever, under the misty sky.