Lion Heart

I always believed that there is just a little more of everything. That nothing is over. Not even when you just can’t get up. Even when you feel weak, helpless, tired, & even restrained by your own limitations.
There is always more. A secret fountain of eternal youth that explodes. Like a sun, burning endlessly.
It is you who choose to ignore it. To make yourself feel weak and believe it.
But what is weakness?!
An ill mind?
A withered body?
No. Just a forsaken soul. A spilled water off your fountain. Wasted and forgotten. But not useless. It keeps your core burning. Just for you to live. If you think that is a living.
“So what is strength?!” A voice whispered
It is a tree standing straight against the harshest of winds. The ocean waves throwing boats in the air dancing. A rigidly flexible concoction of physical and mental fortitude. Held together by your soul, burning like a core of a young star. Eternal.

It is a genuine smile after a bad day. A wild laugh after feeling so sad.
It’s a woman giving up a lot for her loved ones. A man prepared to die so another could live.
A teacher never getting bored no matter how many times he has to repeat that simple math equation because you can’t get it yet. A doctor pressing your chest one more time, for the millionth time, despite the smell of his burning muscles and bones.

But most of all, it’s kindness that you show when everything and everyone around you deserve anything but kindness.

That my friend is strength.

 black-and-white-lion-roaring-Favim.com-812652
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The purifying element

I was standing in front of my workplace resting my back against the wall, my left hand busy with the cup of tea that I’m taking all my time to appreciate its greatness.
My earphones are tucked perfectly in my ears, letting no noise interrupt the serenity of the music played.
I felt the music touch each and every corner of my mind; enlightening me, healing the pieces damaged by all the wrong in this life, proving that all man-made impurities can be cleansed by the immaculate man-made art.

Those longitudinal waves that transmit in billions of varieties of compressions and rarefactions, a geeky but undeniably impressive physics, dispersing all black from the roots of my subconscious.
A simple complexity with perfection that lies in the paradox of its state.

My face was smiling out of control- smile that only few can understand.
Although I was in the middle of the city, surrounded by all the artificial lights and much less nature, I can swear that I could feel an ocean’s breeze all over me. A chill that shook me down to the tiniest of my cells.

Many people passed me by and looked at me wondering why the smile. No. I guess they were wondering ‘how’ the smile. How the smile in a world filled with imitation of happiness and fake laughter. A world were only few can sense the purity around them and appreciate it; few who can ride the wings of freedom towards the distant sun.

Broken pencil

A hand and a pencil. 2 elements that link on a piece of paper to draw letters made of lines and dots in straight and curvy fashions. Putting the letters together or away from each other to form infinite number of words.
The words arrange indefinitely to form sentences. The sentences run lines long, connect or disconnect to each other. And as the soul descends, the words turn from meaningless lines and dots to purposeful pictures that transcend through space and time.
It’s all about how the hand moves, how the pencil runs and draws, and how the soul channels through each and every word.
But for now, my pencil is broken.

Pencil with broken lead. Image shot 2006. Exact date unknown.

Time

“Once upon a time, an unknown time that no one has ever identified! Because no one has ever come to fully understand what time is all about. Because it’s mindblowing how we might own something in the grasp of our hands and in a blink of an eye, we lose it! Who is that “second” to step barbarically and pull whatever we had away, declaring that it’s no longer ours? Nevertheless, we still underestimate time, we waste it like we have plenty of it, like it’s standing on our side. We’re always rushing to collect things, that we tend to overlook crucials for trivials. Then, unfortunately, we come to realize it too late. Because we can’t unfold a wave and rewatch it embrace the hard rocks in attempt to mitigate them. We can’t unblink to make great use of time when we’re with the ones we love.
Time has always been an enigma that has driven many people crazy. There are those who have spent their entire lives trying to go back in time to save the day or move forward to skip it. They have paid their entire lives as a cost in exchange for an abstract issue that they thought would drag happiness to their feet. But, time, instead, was deceitful enough to take their lives away like a devious magician would do, smoothly, to the wallet of his volunteer.”

 

“Stop. For a while, take a look around you. Have a moment to observe everything. Imagine that it all stopped. Even the arms of your watch. Even time.

Imagine that you can have this moment once in a lifetime, where time actually stops and you get to observe everything still. Is it exciting or terrifying?! The wind no longer moans, the bird no longer sings, you can swear that this eagle in the air was flying in a speed that your eyes couldn’t point it.
You start to walk searching for someone, or something that you don’t know what. You’re confused. Your mind cannot react or understand, but will shortly adopt it.

You move forward between people who don’t even breath. Like the people of Pompei under the ashes of mount Vesuvius.

Your constant wish came true. The time stopped. But why can’t your fingers stop tremoring? Why are you heavy-breathing? Why is your heart racing? Why are your knees shaking? Why can’t you stand as tall and straight as when time was pouring right out of your lap into the void?! Why are you meandering so dejectedly?!!
Now you walk among people who are quiescent as stones. Some smiling, some frowning, others galloping. They all have one thing in common, they too wish that time stops. To enjoy the moment, to skip the moment, or to catch the moment.
However, the moment will still slip away. It will not wait for you to catch it, or him to enjoy it, or them to skip it. It’s always moving on. And it’ll frustrate you how you can’t stop it for ecstasy or skip it for woe. You will detest how fast it goes and how sometimes it runs out of your league. Then you’ll realize that even as you fall behind, you only can try to keep up.”

Cowritten with “https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=568536182&fref=ts” – Lina…

Time

Ardent Leap

He’s hearing a lot of vague voices. Voices he feels familiar with but cannot tell which is whose. He tried to focus and turned around strenuously, but he could see nothing. It’s all misty and not a single person was spotted. He couldn’t find the source or the direction of the voices around him.

His eyes’ sheen failed as if hypnotized. He started to walk slowly; his legs were heavy. He kept this slow pace until he had spotted a fading light. He tried to dash forward to catch up with it but with every step he took he felt the ground refusing to let go of his legs. He felt the power he’s exerting to lift his leg off the ground to step forward. It kept getting harder to move; his legs were slowly rooted to the ground and thousands of hands holding on his back keeping him still.
He fell to his knees, feeling helpless and despair started to take over his heart. The light started to fade fast, and darkness crawled just as quickly.
Still rooted to his place almost engulfed by this sinister atmosphere, he knew there is no way he can move up from this. His voice was stuck in his throat and cannot escape but his eyes were focused on the fading light; yearning to grasp it that his eyes refused to shut. His hand moved against his weakness up towards the light.

A while later an orotund voice called his name, very clear that he could feel it hit the numbed chambers of his heart. As if suddenly all the voices resonated and were no longer confusing. Everything stopped, the darkness halted, the light no longer faded. He felt the darkness that was filling him no more.

The luster in his eyes twinkled like a young star. The darkness burned rapidly as if light rays were hunting each and every particle of nothingness to fill it. He suddenly could feel his weakness no more. He felt his dense but light presence in everything around him. He stood up, the ground could no longer root him actually barely holding his presence; it was wrinkling; it almost pulverized underneath his feet.
A wind arose from his core sweeping the mist away. It was clearer than the cloudless skies.

The light was still there. And he was no less yearning than he initially was. But now he was going for it. He knew he could grasp it. Hold it in his bare hands.
He dashed forward and started running towards it. With every step he felt a hand break. Feeling less weight on his back until he broke free of his confinement.
He reached the end of the cliff but the light still away. One more step, one more hardship to breakthrough, one more wall to shatter to pieces, to reach his light, his dream.
He leaped off the ledge. His eyes still fixed on the light as it was brightest now, his arm extended, and his hand ready to grab the light.

LightFlash

Desperate Thoughts

He’s still absent minded for the 3rd day. It’s a harsh realization; For someone to recognize he has been everything he hated. Everything he blamed other for having, or not having.
After 3 days of which he was completely lost in his own self, lost behind the walls he built to prevent everyone to get it. Lost because he forgot that it wasn’t him who knew the way inside. Lost because of how selfish he was and how he took the only person who knows him better than himself for granted.

The feelings were a mix of sadness, rage, despair. All of which towards himself. All of which toward this “thing” that thought it was a human. A human, who mistook every silence for an acceptance. A human who proved to be as superficial as many have claimed.

It’s a little too late now. Too late for a realization. When the hurt is done and the heart is broken, it’s really a little too late for just a realization and an apology. The end of the line, where the damage needs more than just “I’m sorry” or “I love you” to be mended. Where the courage is needed most, not to apologize, but to wait patiently. Where the hope is needed most wishing everything to be fine one more time. Getting one more chance to make up everything that was made down.

Days that passed like decades. Slow. Dull. Aching. Days where sleeping felt tiresome, and waking felt painful. The food was tasteless, the water wasn’t anymore quenching. His eyes saw gray, as his ears could no longer hear but her voice raging through pain. And the pain channeled through each and every of his veins. Excruciating enough to make him feel weightless as his body betrays him to the floor. He couldn’t get up. He felt the weight she boulders over his chest.
This time he couldn’t take away the pain. He couldn’t un-break her heart. And the rivers ran in tears. Tears of regret. Tears of anger and sadness. Tears enough to flood their world or heal it.

The realization wasn’t what he thought it was. It wasn’t that now he knew how inhuman he is. How every thing was a mistake. How Every word he said was painful, and every word he couldn’t see through was death-singing. He realized how much he loves her, how much he holds for her despite every mistake he has done. How much far he’s willing to go for her sake. How many people he’s willing to turn his back to to actually see her smile once again.

 

Ink Rust

Even his pen got dull. He ran out of words and could not write no more. He sat down staring at his notebook that held every piece he wrote. Every art he artistically made. Even the ones he never considered fit to meet the light and chose to bury in this frozen tomb.

But this tomb isn’t as dark as it seems to be. No. It’s special to his heart. Every line holds little portions of his soul carved in letters. Every time he goes through them he feels nourished. He feels the power of every word written even if it was spelled wrong or even expunged.  It definitely crossed his mind for a purpose. It had a meaning to fulfill, just in some other line.

Why did this pen rust? Why can’t it run as smooth as it always did??! Questions that run through his head every time he picks the pen and fails to write a single word that would delineate how he feels. He keeps staring at the white blank page for several hours with no single words written.
It feels like a prison. A soul prison; where it can’t cast off what it needs to show. But that isn’t actually what matters. Not that it’s actually stalled and impaired to show off itself. No. There is more to this. How this soul desires emancipation. How it fights for what it needs. Not to survive but to thrive.

But this soul cannot be compelled to put depict in letters. For what it is is recherche to most of those who go through its letters. Only because even this soul is not immaculate.
And in the end he chooses to just close the notebook and go on. Close it and wait for his pen to call. Wait for his pen to run smooth again. Wait for his soul to be released from its confinement.

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