Thursday, August 28, 2014

World in flames

The smell of fire is here
There's nowhere to hide
or pretend it doesn't exist
Dozens of flames are
dancing around the globe
Seemingly remote and lacking
immediate significance
to those at a distance

The ones in the middle
of the inferno
scream and fight,
crying out for help in despair
Faces pressed against
the glass of indifference
Eyes awash with pain of loss
Quivering lips
Clutching fingers

Words can be heard
If only we listened
weren't sickly used to
ignoring the screams,
muffle disturbing sound,
close eyes and minds
to nightmares
that came to stay
All in the insane hope
of avoiding similar fate

The ground shudders in pain
absorbing streaming
tears and blood
every day
hour

Choking helplessness
prompts the thought:
Are we destined to the final realization:
'All hope abandon,
ye who enter here...'

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Inevitable



When exquisite beauty enters your life it shatters everything around. 
You find yourself in front of it mesmerized and lost.
The world suddenly falls into shadows.
Frozen in your footsteps you search for answers in the strange perfection that came to be from all the improbable lines merging.
It only exists for a brief moment  but is branded on your memory long after it's gone.
Deliciously bewitching, it clouds the reasoning and pushes aside seemingly irrelevant, taking all the space in your heart and soul. 
You fall into a fantasy that feeds and eats at you, splashing fireworks and dragging through the strongest current of emotions you'll ever experience.
With stars falling all around, your eyes are fixed on the sky even if you can't move anymore, or wish, or stay.
The least of all you'd want to walk away.
Beauty is a powerful addiction that follows you around reminding of itself in every stroke, sound or shadow.
Nothing is ever going to be the same and not you.

The incurable longing for unreachable, out of this world and still a part of it, if only in hopes and dreams that cradle at night waving away the dark.

Just a thought



Some writings are carefully crafted work of art.
Others are raw emotional splashes on a canvas, seemingly devoid of purpose or logic.
They blind and disturb by its outright force poured over whatever medium is used.
Some appeal to our intellect and others to the deep recesses of hidden inner self, buried underneath all the inhibitions of social expectations, waiting to see the day of light, breathe air and live, if only for a passing moment.
As if somebody has suddenly started playing an elaborate music piece on a violin with the nerves instead of strings.
Invisible echoes coming from within, respond to the sound, trying to move in unison.
And failing, miserably, longing to keep up, fascinated with the mere thought of it.
Images, haunting in their exuberant elegance, painted in smallest details when words are felt all the way through, playfully innocent and all the way stirring sleeping monsters deep down, ruffling imaginary feathers and not giving any answers to the questions they pose.
Some would prefer their hearts sleep in cosy fantasy.
Others are daring to dive below the surface in search for unknown that may come their way.
It's all about the spectrum you can conceive or handle.
There's no right and wrong in truly seeing the world for what it is and placing yourself in the role you are born to play.

Friday, August 15, 2014

Infinity

I am floating on the shiny, cool surface letting go of myself, memories, dreams, life itself.
The warm touch of the sun above and the languid water below are comforting and don't expect my response. I don't think I have anything in me left to give. I am empty and hollow like space. Being a part of things but not the thing itself is a new concept. It doesn't stir any emotions, it seems so distant but clear and logical. Everything is falling into place and illusive balance finally makes its presence known.
It matters so little when all the energy is drawn out and the rest of the being feels embalmed and protected from all the chaos and upheavals and too far away to grasp or care.
The soft breeze is lighter than a feather, lukewarm water with all the reflections of days gone by and fading into oblivion, muffled sounds of splashing waves, and occasional birds above, sliding between fingers lazy current, and me being and not being myself anymore.
Like a melting ice-cream on a scorching summer day I am slowly loosing shape and form, one by one getting rid of senses, giving up on being something else, letting go, letting slide away and not be here or now or ever.