Wanderer

Wanderer, 

     Ask me not to describe, for everything lies so beyond the grasp of words. Let me unfold myself here in those layers of the unnameable and get lost once again. Leave me, but don't forget.

Never, wanderer.

The Irony of Love

here

He advances towards her with heavy steps that evoke no motion in the sand beneath his bare feet. The urge to burst out and evaporate into the air now abandons him; it’s hurt so much it doesn’t hurt any more.

   She sits two footsteps away from where the waves hit the shore. Her eyes flash to the sky. An eternity ago, she could tell time by the position of moon; now, though, everything stands transfixed.

   As their two haggard entities intertwine, they feel it digging its way through the holes between them and a dream-like past, it crashes them and yet binds them together; and as they hear its sinister silence lurking beneath their tears, it becomes impossible to elude…they have inhaled all the glow love had, and now, it is time to be burnt by the fire.

To you who is no longer there

here

I will fight all that's tempting me to be poetic, and I"ll catch words as they come.

  I try to imagine how things would be like if caught by a camera. I shut my eyes and paint everything in sepia. And when the world fades to black and white, I wish for colors resurrecting it. But at times, when soul breathes into life, I find myself crashing within the tempests it evokes.

  And I envy the characters in movies; free from existence, but in their folds, you can see all the tiny complexities of how it is to be alive. It's then when I weave myself into one.

  I just need to tell you..there is nothing intricate to me; draw a line between a million drop of rain with a black pen and I will be the image glittering behind your eyelids.

Through Me

Egypt is such a loose term; who or what am I referring to when I utter that name? It seems to be like those things you know through and through, and yet, it lies beyond your ability to mould into words..to delineate.


Places are queer-countries are places too-we give them hands to hold memories and we let soul wander in them as they define our decisions, as though they are people, or more: saints, angels. And in seconds, we can undress them of all reverence and leave them naked on the ground to tread whatever remains with a thousand dissing tongue. We fight for places and we die for places. We breathe for places . And places, they don't feel a thing. So, are we only bonding with the shadows of us intertwining on the walls? Are we merely attached to an enormous other self? Can all the emotion overflowing in our hearts be the facade of only one: possession? In their inconsideration, objects and places are the same; objects, though, I can touch; places, they lie between the abstract and the concrete..and in that too lies all the mystery.

I'll let Egypt pass through me like it's the minor and I'm the great. Call me a narcissist, or a megalomaniac, but I won't let myself be a part of Egypt, Egypt will be a part of me. If I want objective facts, history books will be full of that. I am here to be biased, to let all that is me overpower. I'll be the sieve through which the sunrays pass.

I cared to hear and converse, to argue to reach a truth. I felt afraid and recoiled to bed with my limbs shivering. For the most part though, I wanted to recede to myself, where none of it took place, where nothing at all takes place. It’s painful to be me and it’s more painful that I never want to break free.

The Dance

I have a dress the same color as angels flapping their feathery wings. One yesterday, I slid myself into it and watched as it became my skin. I was too white the sun shied away and never shone when I was there. But if you looked too closely, you would see the devil woven into my fabric.

I twirl in the sand. Eve and Lilith, like the ebb and tide, unravel my labyrinthine heart , then rise and fall into it. I am fading into a mirage. Have I ever been real?

The words frantically dance as they tear my brain apart. The shreds fall out of the window. I jump to collect them and I am all broken. I glue my body together and search for them. I press myself into a insanity and it pushes me into ecstasy and they both throw me, on the shores of nothingness. I remember. My brain. I lost it somewhere along the way. The shreds repulse and break my skull. Craziness is inevitable.

Become me again and I’ll pretend nothing ever happened.

New Skin

Click-Click-Click

Her beige shoes trod across the winding road. Faraway, there were pizzas and waiters. The place teemed with them walking swiftly not looking at anything in particular. They frowned in concentration with a Herculean effort not to drop the trays.

She walked starring at the tiles and listening to the Tick-Tick-Tick of her shoe.

Big tile. Small Tile. Big tile. Small Tile. Big Tile. Small Tile.

Tick-Tick-Tick

Tears hit the floor as her hands froze on the doorknob and her lips pressed into a thin line. She tried to imagine herself,  a figure standing in there with flushed cheeks and empty eyes, a huge lump rising in the throat.  But that looked like someone else. Her features lost their distinction as they drowned in the whirly sameness of days.

Wake up, survive, sleep.  Wake up, survive, sleep.  Wake up, survive, sleep.

Vrrr-Vrrr-Vrrr

    The voices in her head went dull, echoing the mechanical roars of the car motor. Her mind was an immaculate reflection of the world seen by those tarnished blue crystals, free of her vision, free of herself. The sun rays slanted across the black sky and spread until there were no traces of darkness. Yet, in her inner mirror she  saw where they resided, lurking right beneath the surface of the days. Days were masked nights. Nights were perpetual. The twiddling autumn leaves that flew in the far horizon were never free; the wind propelled them to the dead ground of her thoughts. And now, she was running away, peeling away that person’s skin she came to recognize as a self she no longer wanted.

Hush!

Listen to her tears fading away…

 Imperfect Prose Post 

Tornadoes in Slow Motion

I always hated hospitals.

     Hospitals are where strong men moan. Hospitals are where everyone passes you by while you are sobbing rendering you invisible for the whole scene is a cliché. Hospitals are where doctors’ ears grow used to screams of pain. Hospitals are where some die with foreign hand in their innards.  

      I pushed my head against the wall tightly closing my eyes as they became too weary with the effort of staring at nothingness. Images kept on pushing themselves into my mind. I distracted myself following random trains of thought having railways melting into each other until I was led to the very one I had been a voiding.

   There is this point that stands as a red line; marking the end of life and the beginning of life as you never knew it. Some call it “turning point” perhaps because it turns everything upside down or maybe because it manages to turn people into other people. Life before it becomes a mere fancy you torture yourself trying to be alive in itــــa  world that stopped being; and after it, a nightmare you cannot accept that now, it’s way more real than you are.

     The atmosphere of unknowingly waiting almost suffocated me. Expectations are the inexistent shapes your eyes form in the dark. Believing they are true will only make you fall as you reach out to touch them. I never allowed myself to hope; my pain was doubled when it all turned out to be illusion; what came after was like watching tornadoes in slow motion. Deflecting myself from all that was impossible; you could hardly avoid what’s within you.

  No matter how much you prepare yourself, forming mental images, it always gives you this fierce shiver running down your spine; sometimes, like a punch in your. I took a glimpse of other people I vaguely knew trying to get in too. This was when I discovered the true horridness of illness. It bereaves you  from your identity until you become an extension to it, a shadow to its ugly face. People visit, not because of  ‘you’ but because ‘you are sick’ . All those who are sick, can be nothing more than sick people you ought to petty; you ought to look at to make you feel better about yourself.

Suicidal Martyrs

Falling is one thing. Collapsing is another. 

 

And then now, i know how it felt; having your life footsteps away and not being able to collect it. Self-inflected pain. Cutting your skin with the same razor blade, wanting so much to stop, and then, you don't. I wished I could blame it on someone else so it all wouldn't be my fault, so I wouldn't have to add layers of hatred towards myself to that already-rotten heart. 

Hope rises in vapors and slowly condenses and the time you reach out to take it, it disappears. Not ever existing, it not ever existing, you not ever existing, would have been easier. 

Blow after blow, and you ask yourself how much longer to bear. I was that thing boxers keep on hitting for training in order not to hurt a real someone. i was designed to take the punches and slowly swallow my tongue letting it turn into venom eating up my innards and go on hushing the screams. As life flowed, mine with tat rock in the stream nobody recognized. A Martyr I kept on whispering, a martyr was what I had always recognized myself to be. And if you were not a martyr, then i'd be nothing.

Mists

And then..... it leaves you wondering, what exactly are we? The sameness that forces us to writhe in pain. Agony, it moans with unfathomable names. 

   Disentangling the details, we are all that island of a person. The random scenes that cross the minds, behind them, there are secrets; there, we stopped to live and have yet to live in parallel dimensions when screams are still unheard. 

   we die. From our ashes, there rises another fire. Alone. Those walls of the grave, they smother me. Let the light find its way; but be careful, it might blind me.

    Quotes between the inner lines; Fresh air still hanging on the mists of the morning before the first yawns discard it, hazy memories intertwine. Identify me. Recognize the paleness of my skin. A dead soul speaks tonight. Bruised lungs crumble down. Bruised longs can't but feign oxygen. 

    I thrust the fangs and peel the skin away. I move them to my heart and let them linger there. 

"You can only take too much," I whisper. "You can only take too much."

Swaying

Me…..?

Is that you?

I thought I heard you sighing.

There was a time when I was just me, and me was I. The mirrors cast their reflections and now, I can’t hear my voice through the thousand echoes distorting my vision. And I’m only seeing damage.

I wish I felt guilty to stop. But when I’m this, I’m someone else. And there I am, lost between the shadows. Can you hear me? Please say no.

The faces fleet through the empty rooms, and through the holes in my cranium, I see them. My head falls back and the spider webs are woven upon my eyes. Blindness gives me more freedom to see what I want.

Don’t ever think you are virtuous, beneath the white thick covers, black is always lurking. Black is always there.

You asked me once why I’m sad. I hid my nakedness through a false sheepish smile using the usual excuse of, “I just didn’t have enough sleep last night.” You easily buy this. You know why? Because I and you are only slaves to rules; beneath your white, you couldn’t care less for me. And beneath the smile, I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sad because it’s easier to be sad. Gravity pulls me towards my gloomy core and I give in to it. And why should I fight?  Tell me now, why should I?

I searched for home and found it everywhere only because I’m in it.  I can’t be outside my skin and ......I can't stop hating it

Expanding Universes

And they baffle me still, those questions....
  Couldn't colors be variables instead of rigid facts? And what proves that my black is your black? I know that to all of us, black is the same thing, but what if it was not a color altogether, what if it was a visual feeling we simply recognize as "black"?
   It runs in my blood to turn things within my head and question. Time was proved to be a fourth dimension and not an inevatible tormentor. Age is defined by time which is defined by our place in the space, for if you had a twin who traveled for one light year on a spaceship which goes with the speed of light, he would be only a year older by the time he came back to Earth whilst you would be eighteen years older....or so I read. And though that sort of ships has yet to be invented, I went o one and conquered Time. But when I came back to Earth, everything was so aliented to me. Again, Time proved to the greater.
        Words are different from other Arts; unlike them, they have a comprehensible language and, all the other Arts translate feelings through feelings, whilst words go a bit deeper than that, just a little bit, for they all meet at that point of never literally translating feelings, yet, convince you they did. Words circle around feelinsgs, yet never quite touch them, and all what you feel while reading, is only what lies between the words. And still I wonder, when was those abstract lines given this huge power? How did language come to be?

The Inn of Forgotten Fancies

Letting fancies steal my thoughts, a thousand shades of a waning moon speak
   Searching for clarity, all I see is a cold ocean. Fear builds up in steps within my chest, like a foreign hand, softly touching my lungs, yet, making them shiver. Memories of a child sweep me away from these grounds and let me stand as a witness on the bathroom floor when a scared girl dared herself to step under the shower of icy water. Soon I discover that these memories are forged; I've never been a child before. On the threshold of my jump, I'm drowning. I hold my breath and then the ground disappears.
 When the ground appears again, I'm half dosed away.
  I wish my words had a tone. I wish my words were lyrics.
  I tried a thousand times before to write a story, but when my fingers touched the pencil, they started writing on their own. When I read them, I see patternless emotions. I wanted to sew them together with a plot, but they were too powerful for boundaries. They are scenes without a movie. They are a river that rebelled on civilization to become an ocean.
I wish I knew how to tango.

Faceless Faithless

The blur of colors tire my eyes as I try to find the slightly perceptible differences between the shreds of everything thrown on the cold asphalt. I look away from the window and curl my body holding my two legs between my arms. Rocking back and forth, hope is lost that sleep shall ever meet my eyes. I’m crouching and crying. I’m sucking my thumb, I’m not a baby, but I wish I could regress to that form.

I tried to take hold of the air, but it slipped away. I tried to hold on to water but it held me prisoner to that state when you are drowning and not dying. Melting between two states, you are neither liquid nor gas. You pray you are something. You pray you are anything. You pray to have a name and a scent. You pray for the shadows you lost.

The car stops. So, this is my station?

I let my legs wander to wherever the complex chaos of life bigger than being takes them.  And I stop. Halfway to nowhere, I stop. I am out of myself, questioning my name, marveling at my skin, loathing this person I must’ve become somehow, somewhere, without noticing. I see a sea ahead of me again. I push myself away, but its water runs within my veins. Past sins condense falling on my head like edgy stones taking away with them a thousand faces I once recognized as my own. And, I stand, faceless. I search within the walls of my soul and though I always believed, I’m faithless.  

Life is there. Life I once had and never knew but from others’. “oh you were so quiet”, “You’d never stop walking” “you were never sociable”  “you……you……you….” I lose tracks of the words and create my own.

When people talk about how much freedom is the heart of their lives, they are lying. Hearts are imprisoned in rib cages and souls in bodies. Brains are within the bones of a skull and being is in the rigid walls of a womb.  And they, when their eyes are outside their heads looking at themselves, all they see is a flower withering away within a transparent bell jar, sacrificing its scent for passers by. I rethink prisons. Prisons are for protection.

I approach a knife, at first, I gingerly hold it. Then, all the fear within my heart dies. Pythagoras said that a musical connection ties the universe together. I always played a violin alone. Even when the melodies life played weren’t the same, I always played a violin alone. And now, life wants to expel me. I plug my headphones into my ears, those are the last words I ever heard, “ Watch our souls fade away a our bodies crumble down, don’t be afraid, I will take the blow for you” and my last thoughts are about what Sartre referred to as sweet death, when a bee sinks in a honey jar. I feel this final release and I think…..

Prisons are for protection, but turns out I don’t wanna be protected after all.

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Laugh Today, Then Cry Forever

   Hold on to me love. We only have decaying beliefs adhering us to hypothetical realities. and if love fails us, who are we to win? And if time bounds us, what will we do but watch our lives crumble down?          
 Ambivalent, you fling me into your arms. Ambiguous, you chant your lullabies. You dared night to silence you, and you always failed.
  It is time for me to go. I take leave and head for him. He smiles his usual cold smile but a broken tooth in his mouth repels me. I run back to you.

Through the fog, I heard you singing. they'd always think you were singing of death and they'd always be wrong, you were singing of us.

Take my hand now and let's elope. Here is not our place. Today is not our time.

Again

Within us, everything was doomed to eternal silence; stilling the sound of blood if it ran in our veins and hushing those desperate screams of life as it ruthlessly strangled it. We lost hope, and with hope, we lost everything.

You whispered to me that pain has infinity to it, ephemeral as the glistening of masks. But I could hold happiness not a moment longer than I could hold the rain. Again I found myself thinking of you. And again I found myself wondering. I never touched you, so couldn't you be a hallucination? But I remembered you were as untouchable as my own soul, yet I couldn't deny its existence.

You said I was a drop in the ocean, but I was an ocean in a drop.

You chose to jump to the world of two dimensions and I couldn't stop you.

Behind the walls of a painting, my love resides

Cheap Papers

Bones disassemble and blood pulverizes. Tongues still seek the scent of wealth only because they know none but it. Never shall it cease, for you have sold your soul to be under the mercy of cheap papers.

   Slavery did not annihilate, for we all worship cheap papers. Cheap Papers rule and make us kill. Cheap Papers rule, and destroy. Cheap paper is and we are not.

   All that’s beautiful is untouched. And they go on materializing feelings till they are no longer feelings. Cheap Papers murder the vibrant beat of life within our hearts. And what are we but slaves to obey?

    Look at us before we sought the warmth of the dead and were killed too. Long ago, I know, but can you still recollect? Look at us when we once tore Cheap Papers, as we saw them as Cheap Papers; then we were harshly scolded for it. Cheap Papers twisted our necks and broke them. Cheap Papers allured those who were blinded by its luster to be ever falling in its abyss of endless greed.

   And what is money but Cheap Papers we gave value until it is now more valuable than us? Once upon a time, we could exist beyond it; but like any other Cheap Papers, it withers, and makes us wither  with it

Where Never Is A Time

  

Do We?

Are we?

Will be…..?

Utter your words and bombard them with basic questions they never questioned. Faces go aghast. Mouths open and close on nothing. They turn and leave you. Asking..

Do We?

Are we?

Will be…..?

They always push the voices to where they cannot hear them. But today, a tiny whisper escaped. They tried to drown it away but it was too late. It had forever colored their eyes.

The gleam of hope sparkles in your eyes. I was there before, where ‘away' was a place; where tomorrow was 'someday' and where things had meaning only because they had no meaning. But now I'm here, where never is a time. Trapped in the walls of a fragile invincible bubble, you cannot free me… for if you did, you would have killed the dead;  you would have to let nothingness exist.
they talk about pain like they know it. i want to believe so, but I can't. All things break, but some are never the same again, and some will never be again. pain has no reason, but it hurts all the same. I keep on editing you. I keep on rectifying past mistakes. within my head, I click  "delete". you hated how I laughed. But really, misery is the funniest thing ever. they call something funny when it's unreasonable, and what on Earth is more unreasonable than you?
And do I have to be afraid? But I am beyond fear. I am where fear has no existence for caring has long abolished. I am where the alive are wishing to die. And do the dead wish to come back to life? I think so. Because "there" is always better than "here"
And now....
Now I want to sabotage and not be sued. I want to spend and not be poor. I want to shout and not be hushed. I want to walk naked and not be scrutinized. I want to be beyond being. Or, I wish I never were. 
 Being confounds us, but we cannot but be. The truth is, nobody is wrong. They won't live with the thought of them being evil, so they twist the truths. So nobody is evil, we are just too prone to misery. Being restrains us, but we cannot but be. 

Be Free

But first,

Do not be

For freedom never was 

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Colourless

The photo was in black and white, but I could see your colors.

     Your eyes caught the light and let it fall effortlessly as it had no place in them. But still, parts of it remained. Reckless as you were, the world to you had no weight, for your center was so heavy, it sucked everything in.  Just like a black hole. Your familiar cloud of smoke made your halo as you whiffed deeply, yet with no concentration as though you had done this a thousand times before and with no intention of ever stopping. In fact, I wasn’t sure you saw a thing at all.

     I approached you, and my lungs instantly expelled your smoke letting out their protests as a violent fit of coughing. You looked up and laughed with your eyebrows were raised. I asked, “What’s the matter with you today?”

“What’s the matter with me today?” You quitted laughing, but your eyebrows were still raised, only in a manner that showed you knew the answer and were challenging me to find it out.

“You look so…so…"ــــ

“Away….?”

Yes, away”

“I’m not away, I just wish to be away”

“And why is that”

“I’m in so much pain and I need to breathe”

My eyes wandered to your cigarette and you noticed. “Oh cigarettes……they don’t suck my air” Your face came with such proximity to mine I could feel your breath “People do.”

“And why are you in pain?”

“And does pain have a reason?”

“ I thought so”

“You are wrong then. Pain is the one thing people are entitled to feel without the least kind of reason. People try to tell you that others had it worse than you and still they went on. But the truth is, your pain is always the worst; you never feel anyone’s pain but yours. And feeling others’ suffering is nothing more than hearing an echo of as voice that screamed a hundred years ago.”

“And you are like onions.”

You smiled, confused. “People know there are so many layers to you,” I said, “but they are always afraid of pealing knowing that you always make them cry”

For once, you let down your cigarette, your eyes sparkling curiously and your lips let go of their sarcastic smile. You took another whiff and then moved your head away.

The photo was in black in white, and you had no colors at all.

Sinners of Dreams

   Tears of a thousand constellations collide falling down on my melting bones. Screams of thunder pierce my ears as the world looks at me in reproach burning my skin with their gazes. I want to elude and whisper in dreams. I want to escape to my head and hide within the cage of my skull. But I no longer own that place.

  You said my words made little sense to you, like I was talking about someone else. But, you sought me in the words and I do not linger in there. I’m the silent sigh between the lines uttered by your lips; I’m the images burnt with in the creases of your brain; I’m the bitter taste left in your mouth; I’m the volcano of feelings erupting between your ribs. Can you see me now?

   Under layers of black, there lie thousand shades of dead colours. Wrench me out of the colorlessness and take me on the swing set swaying between heavens and Earth. We always wake up and find it today; we are always living this hour, this moment, this second. And the second is an ephemeral form of eternity holding us prisoners. Time is constant and we are variables. Well, not in the beating organ between my ribs. Not in the few inches within our skulls. You taught me how to rebel on reality with the thoughts that are not bound to it. You taught me how conquer time by being beyond it. But you never taught me what would happen when life expel you. For sanity in a world of insanity is insanity. And the cost of life is your head.


I won't be blogging for the next three weeks; I'll be having tests. I'll miss you all until then. See you soon!

Death Sings in Our Ears

 Drown with me in the heart of an old song that has no story but two who swore to let their souls be carved by melodies. It doesn’t have to be great, just sing along and let it seep and reach you under the skin.

 You told me not to fight death when it comes, just let it kiss my soul gently and I won’t have to feel a thing. You told me to count to three and it would all be over. But I was not ready yet.

 The shades of grey colored our world and we no longer had definite lines of black and white to guide us. Wherever our hearts pointed, we followed. We smashed the rules of life and threw it behind us. We were no rebellions, we were just lovers.

Now close your eyes and let our fingers intertwine. Clasp my hands tightly and let my bones break into yours. The words melt on the bridge of our lips so our souls whisper them

One

Two

Three…