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Shall I say goodbye to all the folks and try to be a little nicer since I already know? I could list down all the things to do and all the things I could give away. But when I look at the mess I hoard why did I ever keep them anyway? Suddenly there seems so much to live for and at the same time I've got nothing to die for. How will it be and how will I live? To know that I've not died miserably.
All the things I planned that will never be, all the dreams I dreamt that I'll never see. The people I judge and the ones I hate So few I love but now it's late. But if I had known I'd die so soon I would've tried with a little more love. But then again if I had known all along Would I still procrastinate for what it's worth? As I walk down the familiar road again now I see the grass so green on the side, I never knew how to walk in the rain and I'll never know how to see beyond sight. I should've told myself everyday was the last maybe I could get a little more time to think, of the right things to do and say and embrace still, at least I have this moment to dance and sing.
As I search through my quiet resonance I hear a deafening murmur of distant muffled sounds. The sound of an empty space which is filled with a dying dream. Of sloth and routine. I tried to walk out of it but it's everywhere. There is no place I can go to without hearing it. The skies are grey and sullen, like an old unforgiving man. The light is almost gone, the dusk is forever long and never changing. Why has the wonderful moment gone hiatus? To leave us nothing more but the smell of death in the air. Why does it seem that way in places that smells bad in the air.
I can only imagine the worse when I am all out of breath, And I can only see the beauty of life when I am close to death. How we never appreciate what is always there and around until the day when all is gone, whether they have been lost or found. Like the wild flower growing out of the broken wall, or the birds that fly back to roost when the sun goes down. Or the man who held you on days of tears you could not recall, and the woman who cradled you in your melancholy frown. Days go by like the forgotten blink of an eye, the years roll on in our diminishing drive. Before everything fades away into complete darkness let’s not forget what we have here and now is absolutely fabulous.
Everything happens for a reason; in the death of a loved one, to the catastrophe and the losses in war and the fatality of famine. But what reason could there be? For the suffering of his cancer and the crying out in agony, for the girl who was raped and beaten where she was left out in the rain. For the boy who was abused and killed to the woman whose rights was taken, their lives abandoned. What have they done to warrant their demise? Are the reasons the same for everyone, or is it only for a chosen few? Why must everything happen for a reason when the reason doesn’t seem reasonable in our eyes and judgment, in our tears and discontentment. But they happen anyway with or without our profound comprehension, with or without our superficial lamentations because everything happens for a reason whether we like it or not, whether we can draw any conclusions.
The times of pain are only too real when it aches from day to day. The wounds will open and then heal, come rain or shine, come what may. I like to dream of unreachable stars, beyond my scope of being human. I can’t believe I’ve traveled this far towards life’s one and only destination. But the journey sometimes confuses me with things of love and anger and disappointment. If only I could be completely free I might close my eyes and not think of reasons.
When I die I want to die for a good cause. I don’t want to be in bed writhing with pain, crying out to God or the doctors to take it all away. I want to be able to fight to my very last breath and laugh about how great it all was. I want to fight my own battle to the very end. I don’ even want to think about what I will do when I become incapable because I will not succumb to it. I want to die on a day when I am good and ready, not when I am tired and sick. I believe being sick is a state of mind like everything else, I don’t have to be if I don’t want to be. There will be no such thing as loneliness because I will always be by the side of the ones I love and share with them what I have accumulated all my life. There is always enough to go round and even for the second, third and forth time if it is needed.
Everyday will be my last and everyday will be my first in everything I do. I want to be curious like a child and yet I want to be wise with experience so that I can appreciate everything that comes my way. Most of all I want to laugh because I can. Because there is humor in everything we do, the seriousness is only a show to icing the lopsided cake that we all are. My heart will beat for the animals that are meant to be free, where nature is forever. They are the real meaning of life without judgment, without prejudice, without discrimination. But if fate would have me bed ridden for whatever reasons, I will take it as it comes because there must be some universal unseen reason for that to happen. But believe me, I will not go down without a fight for there’s always a better reason than just to die because there is no more light.
In the end, in the end, everything comes to an end. The major deals, the sacred kills, they will all come to nothing but a forgotten past. The amassed lucre, the secured future they will soon be fleeting away into dust. For all the madness for all the grief, for all the unnecessary we create to deceive. At the close, at the coda, everything will take a bow.
For all the anger, for all the tears, for all the stupidity we’ve kept for all those years. To be reunited to be divided, we go uninvited to the only place we know. We live without a clue, we wander into graves. We can’t even see the hue of love among our braves.
Do you believe in magic? Sometimes it is like the dark of the night and sometimes the bright of the day; a mystery of the heart and the wonder of tragic. Beyond the expanse of the skies and the volumes of the sea, somewhere between the hour and a moment someplace peaceful and tumultuous, the time for truth is what we believe in. On the wings of a bird that takes flight from ground to the utmost limits of its swipe. And when it hovers at the command of the wind looking back at the minute particles below from its majestic vision, such pride, such grace. Everything at the whiff of a breath, the birds rule the space: vast, enormous, infinite. Land and sea coalesce in matrimony and all its people unite as one and countries are nonexistent just earth. Where do birds go to die? In the back street, the dark lane in garbage cans, anywhere sorry, and anywhere there's land. Where do birds go to die? Just like us... in the heart where it all began Tell me... where do they die?
Everything kills itself in the end. Whether you are rich from your pickings or poor without dignity. Protected by your government or denied by the policies, born out of love or raised out of hate. You will die, not from misfortune or from force majeure but by your own hands. How you die is dictated by your own doing because deep within you know everything kills itself in the end. You lie to yourself about living forever, you feed yourself supplements and pills and drugs approved by
businessmen and politicians. You know you don't need anything to survive and continue living. But you prefer to be influenced by media and commercialism with their flashy illumination, but you know they are nothing but images and illusions to make you need something that you don't have a need for. You are donned with jewelries and designer clothes but you neglect your sanity and inner child and kill yourself when you try to make sense of good and bad. We die because we want to. Back in our minds, we wish for death to come, swiftly, slowly or excruciatingly. We see it in our dreams, we find the path to our destination, we make it real for ourselves. Everything kills itself in the end, what more do you want?
I feel like I die everyday when I go to sleep. I lose my sense of identity when I travel into the next realm and go to bed. I become someone else completely, someone I know nothing of when I'm awake. And she asks me: Why do you worry about the irrelevant? I ask her what irrelevance is to her? And she says: What do you take with you when you die? I thought for a moment and say: Nothing? So what is so relevant in this life that cause you to worry so much all the time? Would you rather die everyday when you go to sleep? Or die all the time worrying about nothing important? She slips through my mind when I opened my eyes.
I tell myself: Because I die everyday when I go to sleep, I want to smile and laugh when I'm awake. I don't want anger to rule my life and waste the rest of my waking moment. I refuse to sulk in sorrow about what other people say, I want to do what I most want to do, to fill my dreams with a bagful of wonders. I shall list down everything from meeting an old friend for tea, sharing an intimate conversation with my loved ones, sing along to my favorite musical, to walk among the giant trees and fragile flowers, be silly, be crazy, be me. Because I die everyday when I go to sleep, I shall never know if I will wake.
Get me a life or get me a knife, to start me living or leave me dying. Said the isolated man, said the unloved woman. Play me a song or play me no wrong, to succor my soul or wreck my body, Said the guiltless infant, said the ragged veteran. Eat me some food or drink me some wine, to starve me for good or cast me to pine. Said a recluse someone, said a pompous everyone. Let in the sun, and bring on the rain, Let me die young, and bring me no shame, Said the angel of thought, said the devil of sort.
There was once a boy who kept my art as his favorite, he was someone I did not know. In the world of millions, one tragic end of silence, I never knew him, I never knew him. By the time I realized that I had been appreciated I was already standing at the door where he left, now he's gone, now he's gone. It's not how we surrender to the hoodwink of the world and ignore the ones who know about the bountiful things to share. It's how we change one another through our quietness, through our songs and poem, through our art and sketches, through our spoken word or through our presence of just being there. Perhaps I never knew this boy who loved my work, but I do know him I do know him because we were connected for awhile but now he's just metamorph.
It just goes on like an endless Ferris wheel, a carousel or the windmill and it never stops. It doesn't stop. The life of a dreary soldier who has lost the fight for his own existence. The life of a victim who has been ravaged by the terrifying nightmare of death. The wayward child who has lost his way at the world's end and run out of places to go. The life of the glamour and glitz that swirls like the city smog and disperses in thin air of its despair. The life of those in search, looking for something that isn't there. Nothing satisfies, nothing feels right. The spin of the hurricane and the turn of the whirlpool, the revolving door and spiraling stairway. It goes round and round like the pirouette of a dance, the gyration of the body but when does it stop its whirligig motion? When will it stop? Only when there’s too much to take? Only when it’s too late?
leaves are meant to fall flowers are meant to wither time is meant to pass and love is meant to be discovered. life is meant to live minds are meant to imagine kindness is meant to share and ideas are meant to be there. some things are meant to bring joy some news are meant to bring sorrow if tears are meant to cry all men are meant to die.
I am cruel, I am mean. I embrace my nightmares and I love my dreams I think God is a woman and I know nothing is what it seems. There are no coincidences and there are reasons to believe. Roll over and play dead or have some tea and bread. I hate to travel up and down the road, to get caught in the human inconsistency. I'd rather go to a casual undisclosed place and party spontaneously. Hmm ... it would be so nice, it would be so great. I shall gobble down the cream and I shall eat my cake play with me, sing to me, email@example.com http://vergilya.blogspot.com until I am dead.
Featured art pieces are ‘Tree of Life’ series.
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