My Freedom

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

a forgotten language

I have recently rediscovered a long-ignored means of communication used by the ancients since the beginning of time… something much older than the language of words and much more sophisticated than the heavenly rapport of that angelic form of communication (that is) music.
You see, i have been travelling. And the roads and the backroads i’ve trod upon had me wandering through some forlorn valleys and dreary backways that one can only imagine in nightmares and poe dream states.

While in these dark recesses, I have stumbled upon frost’s less-travelled road. Sure enough, it led me to a place so gentle in its state that even the wind leaves it alone and the only sound is the beating of one’s heart. Here, one encounters the sad moan of loss as it comes and dances full circle with its opposite, the wild squeal of delightful discovery. Here, the vibrant fibre of youth lies side by side with the contentedly withered form of age.

There are no words here. They can never say anything… and never catch up with what the mind sees and feels, as each instance is intensely fast-paced like a film running in a frenzied fast-forward. And most certainly, there’s no music. It fails its purpose in this limbo. Here, the essence of opposite is forever intertwined… The good and the bad, the happy and the sad. The old and the new.

Here, one foregoes with the asking of the how and the why because, simply put… everything is already there. Lying still, as in a dead pool. Static yet filled with vibrance. Like a black hole with all the elements of the universe present. Here, heaven and hell co-exist as they’ve had through all eternity. (Don’t believe what the books say…they’re just a bunch of words.) At the gates, a sign only your mind can comprehend "reads":

"only one language spoken here: Tears." Welcome.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Forum's End

The task is done.
Your ideas have seen their five minutes of fame
and you're looking around, desperately seeking
for a pal with spare smokes.
The cups of coffee (was it five?)
that you've downed stir fretful memories
of that one time, your fingers shook as though
they've been attached to live wires.
You sigh and resign yourself to the fact
that yes, this day will not be sourly missed.
You heave that last thought and hurry
your mind to receiving tomorrow.