Literary escapades

Life is seeping away like water Running through fingers  Trembling with fear Illusive lights  Show the road untraveled  Full of promise, new and enticing  Blurry vision of days and years  Slowly falling in memory pockets To be retrieved some other time...

What can you do when you are chained to a speeding train that only accelerates. To jump off, continue with the insanity or find the way to soar free.  If all the hours of pain and despair taught you anything it's to wait, hoping 'what if'. What if the next turn will have the answers you are looking for. Hope, peace, sanity. Illusions are floating in the air even when there isn't any strength to hold on and you are just instinctively clutching at the last reason. Survival is so deeply rooted that it wouldn't let you go easily even in the darkest of moments.  What makes us endure, stand up from broken knees over and over again, against all odds, against time and ourselves hiding deeper and deeper begging for mercy of an oblivion, from past, present, memories, faces... But tireless carousel is spinning ever so faster, and world outside is just a set of blurry images of what was, is and will be...

Sometimes it's small and non-intrusive. It follows you around quietly without an argument. You hardly notice it exists.  At times it's bigger and more pronounced. You see it when taking photos under the bright sun in short winter afternoons. It's stepping in in front of you to make a point. And then the time comes when it starts to hover above you where it's getting harder to ignore it. It covers your sky, just a small part at first,  then slowly spreading like a big stain and taking away the sun and the sky, taking away warmth, light, color,  playing with your mood and finally getting your full attention. It starts sipping through your pores, getting inside even deeper. You are suddenly very aware of the probing intruder searching for something with its alien fingers. The cold is invading you like a doubt, occupying your waking thoughts, not allowing to forget its presence even for a minute... till the next sunny day that is suddenly here washing away all the dark

World is too crowded. You notice it when it starts to make you claustrophobic even in the wilderness. It leans on you with all the people, buildings, vehicles and endless excessive noise depriving you of the minimal personal space that is just yours. Everything and everyone seem to be carelessly infringing on it at all hours of the day and night. Too many, too much... Getaways from it are through and back the same thick layer you need to squeeze in in order to briefly escape and then soon return so they seem more and more unreachably illusional in its temporal status that only enhances the feeling of being forcibly trapped in the world that is too close to breathe. You start to run and hide in the corners of yourself. More often than not. To live with the sense of being watched and heard you learn to speak to yourself quietly inverting all your being, keeping eyes only on necessary.  Sometimes you'd stop to notice the change in season, distractive colors, the sky that is ev

What used to be  may never return May hide in shadows  Sleep deep inside  Where you will need  all the light of sun to see its contours  Burnt in recesses  with colors and taste unrecognized Though always there  However scared  to come to surface  And Be Again...

When touch of autumn promises the end  of scorching heat,  long days in green and blue,  the fading echo of cicadas song with skies so close  you almost touch the fabric  and brush aside clouds  to see the sun We linger outside hesitating  to go back home Prolonging the experience and hoping  This time winter  will forget to come

Some things will stay with us or go  And vanish slowly out of sight Transform reality we know  To someone's anguish or delight All memories will slowly fade To our sorrow and dismay To come again and be reborn  One freshly crisp and sunny day

Somebody shouting, roaring motors are up and about, people are scurrying around, and cicadas make this screeching sound in a desperate attempt to find mates. It's busy and loud... and lonely like hell. Inner emptiness is clouding the sky, greying it and making it cry sad tears.  Life goes about and not everyone is a part of it. We all try of course, to navigate this temperamental river, giving up and coming back for more.  Driven by hope, despair or fear to be left behind we try and try till the last straw breaks urging to let go. Does this desperate run has an ounce of a meaning? Does it help make things better for someone?  Are we kidding ourselves in a futile attempt to find significance in endless monotony of hours to be lived and done with? Cicadas are having a break.  Shiny Moon looks reproachfully down on all of us lost in a sleepless abyss  still hoping...

Introducing New Literary escapades 2 prose: 'The Big One comes on Friday' (completed) at  http://literaryescapades2.blogspot.com/

Misty         morning Rain          drops Falling           quietly

Must sleep under sound of rain And dream of things to happen Slowing down to remember Before it is too late

Who's not asleep? Who won't let Sunday go? Who's dreams are a reflection of the day That hasn't started yet But promises the world...

Is it possible to have a nostalgia for times you haven't lived in or being too young to remember?.. Why is it then your heart aches a little at every appearance of certain scenes or sounds of music tune?.. Memories of the past that aren't even yours. How is it even possible to relate this much?.. Is it something imprinted in your genes... Once in a while you long to return there, walk the streets, smell the air, feel the vibe, see people at the peak of their youth... A surreal time travel where anything is possible in an excitement of anticipation. Stepping in, finding your way around, siting in a small cafe on a warm summer afternoon and watching people go about their business, all the while knowing you are just a guest, a visitor, an occasional passerby and roads are open to you in any direction. Walking familiar streets and seeing them in a different light. Listening to an old song in its first release. Watching a movie though knowing the ending and still be surprised. Enj

Why do we hope and dream in the middle of the most unbearable experiences... Life hurts, leaving scars dividing us from our own past. Memories fade but remain hidden underneath, waiting to be unleashed at the moment of weakness when pictures will be so sharply vivid, so painful to touch. And still... this unexplained need to go back and look at the long lost realities persists. Life is an insane run, desperate, breathless with almost no time to stop and look back... or notice those who fell behind. With the wind in the ears, blinding sun, and burning in the flames of autumn maple leaves.

Life Nowhere to run World's too small Time - short Out of breath Behind stars Hope Still

Like dinosaurs watching the asteroid hit the Earth, helpless to comprehend or prevent the inevitable, we live in our small worlds until the unspeakable happens destroying life as we know it. And what left is - just to watch in quite desperation what unveils next, wiping away surroundings, getting closer and closer, with the hot breath on our lips, until the last glimpse of light will fade dragging away memories, consciousness, the self...

Life won't ever be the same from this day forth.  No matter how far we'll go without looking back. It's not even over yet. The crashing change that makes you see the darker side once again when you thought these times are far behind. You can't turn your back yet. It lingers in the shadows with uncertain promises and cold reality freezing your mind that races endlessly from the point to point in time - back and forth - from before to after.  'The way it used to be' isn't happening, it's long gone, left behind the rubble of the past to only be revisited in memories.  Pain and sorrow haven't yet sunk in deep enough.  It'll all come later, the true realization of the scale of this loss,  it'll take your breath away, filling the heart with unbearable struggle  to answer one crucial question - Why? Like fragile steps on the sand washed away with an afternoon tide,  life itself seems so small and insignificant.  Evening sun on an empty sho

In the pitch of night, speeding further away Blurry images melt and merge To create an elaborate patchwork and stay Long after they seize to surge Chasing crazy wind, on the edge of nerves Exhausted with dangerous path With uncertain dreams of the times to come  Where the day at a time is enough

I'm dreaming in my winter cocoon Of warmer, sunnier times Gliding across the sleepy Moon With colorful butterflies Under the blanket of piling snow Wishing for greener days Open roads to the unknown In all the infinite space

Wishing you snowy dreams Sweeping away the pain Wishing you golden sun Drowning in blue of day Feather-like touch of wind Ease and freshness of sleep Cradling you in its arms Bringing the hope of spring ...