Past is endless spiral….
Future, a worrisome maze…
Sometimes past is like a maze…
Future, bleak darkness…
Sometimes past is like bleak darkness…
Future, tunnel with hope on the other side…
Maybe present is the dark, spiraling maze that connects the past and present…
And end of the tunnel is start to something else…
When we abandon our own story,
all that is left is gaping pit,
which spirals all the way down…
There are always people to talk to…
But hardly any one who listens or more importantly wants to listen…
It’s easy to be lost in stories to get away from your own.
I’m afraid to look back at the memories.
And If I don’t,
I fear I might forget those memories.
Because these memories
and pain that comes with it
is all I have left of you.
There is peace in giving up, especially what we once wanted with all our heart.
It is wrong to pursue love. It’s not something to be pursued.
And abandonment of love has some kind of peace in it, which is similar to the peace of defeat, the peace of giving up.
It was misty
It was drizzly
Dark clouds and
Sun engaged in ballet.
Cool breeze and
Thunders giving music to it.
The stage was green
With high ups and
Wide downs to it.
Contours of farm were
The stairs came from
The fog above
As if from the heaven.
Still something was missing
Beauty can be
In being incomplete.
And then across the scene you arrived
On this metaphorical stage.
In this cold and wet being
It was your warmth that was missing.
You were the final stroke
To the canvas.
Still I thought
It was waiting to be complete
Was more satisfying
Than being complete.
Once someone had said to me that books affect our worldview. They change our thinking and opinion. So must be avoided.
I’m always glad I chose books over that person.
Alone and happy with books.
Knowledge is always better than people.
People may hurt you, deceive you, manipulate you.
But books will teach you,
Show you the way ahead in the journey called life.
In the real world which art claims to explain, we know that we must face life with strength; stand akimbo and all that. We admire the strong and tire of the weak. But what appeals to us in art is the very opposite. We are bored of the strong and fascinated by the frail.
“There is the mythology of you, we all have a mythology of ourselves, but then we see our real selves in a story and we recognize what we are.”