NGV
Sporadic Thoughts.
'16.
Observation(s):
1. They dropped like bee’s- one sting at a time. They wore themselves like lost socks in a winters chilling night. They behaved like children, each lending little patience to the other. They rose everyday and sunk every night, together in embrace, still mumbling the morning prayer their mothers had taught them.
2. The lights of the city pass by you like spotlights on your soul, instilling a serene coolness within that neither you nor your ancestors can quite explain. The storm already came and went, but now the dusk settles once more, yet with no intention or consequence-besides that of its rising star.
3. I'm at peace with the sole
beneficiary
of my love,
me.
If words were swords,
I’d have my own head
And make it Queen anyway
The Issue
She searched for love.
The truest of its kings: that between people. She searched for happiness, never grasping at its vulnerability.
She searched for a life that simply did not exist. But worse yet, this truth, she knew. Wholeheartedly she knew.
She searched for life and it’s gratitude- its response.
She trusted no one but herself. Yet could not believe in the one she trusted.
That was the first issue.
Truth and Isolation
It is within the confinement of darkness
That isolation surrenders itself.
Where beyond the threshold of superficial exuberance,
Lies the beleaguering act of repression,
For in the calamity of emotions, a fortress is built
Whereby solitude emerges alone in its discrepancy
Forever antagonising
It is in the depths of our dreams that we find the fears we cower beneath, And it is here that we struggle with a self-inflicted solitude, realising the immensity of our failure(s).
The City vs. The Sea
I miss the stars, and the view.
I miss believing simultaneously in nothing and everything.
The distractions ample out here- within the city.
Obscuring reality,
truth becomes menial.
Life instead: deceitful.
People with anxiety.
People with amnesia
They forget.
Blinded by commotions
That fill up the void every night.
Hiding reality.
The sea: A slice of heaven brought to a standstill.
Wonder and lust in one galloping motion.
Sweeping, it restores the natural order.
Water, thus proven worthy.
Serenity
without circumstance.
Gods' / Puppets
The tide sweeps over
Crushing the marks of yester
day
Creating the sparks of today
Its futile length, the reason
for this comedic struggle,
of time and purpose
as gods puppets
of endless amusement
I
I fell in love with you long before you knew who I was to you.
I fell in love with the tingling touch of your fingers threading my inner thoughts.
And grasping at mine as we laid bare within the confines of our trust.
The sun perched above your smile.
Your teeth glistened.
You ran your fingers through my hair and your eyes stole mine.
Breakfast lay there - untouched.
We laughed, and you smiled, and I knew.
You were mine.
The Enigma
You’re both my creation and destruction
By now already embodied within me,
Flowing through my veins
Like a self-destructing medicine
You free my mind, but
increase languid composure.
A lethargic way of life
with assurance of wisdom,
To no effect
My failures recent have been for you
but my escape you created,
An endless beneficial cost,
Where reason is blurred,
and thoughts are lost
Day 1 (of 100): Move!
Cant go backwards. Need to move forward.
Old habits hazardous to the new.
I see a pathway, obstructed by the view.
I see two doors: One new. One the same
Familiar face. I see pathways here and there.
Each key the same. My heart needs to take shape.
No land for the weak. I strive to see, not one but
Two or three.
I want to believe.
Yet wholeheartedly I freeze.
I’ll melt away if the land says so.
I can’t stand here no more.
A path so trodden, it knows me too well.
I can’t stand here no more. I need to move.
Quickly and stealthy. Decision made,
Yet the feed doesnt’t sway. Move!
Just move! Get out of the way.
Soon enough, a bulldozer awaits.
Move! move! just move out of the way!
Go that way!
Go! Go! Go!
Move!
Identity Cries.
This is who I am
-Not what I do.
Within two weeks of being born I had already moved to what would become my primary home.
Within a month, I had returned to visit the tarnished home of before.
Within a few years, I’d travelled across the world to a subsequent home.
Since then, the homes vanish and reappear
Stretching to a mere 8 I have lived in, many more travelled.
I am not someone who travels. I am a traveller by nature;
How do I stop moving when that’s all I’ve ever been?
New home, new paradise for anywhere between months and years
Gradually fading to new promises.
They ask me what do I do?
Money is a means, not a requirement to leisure.
Nor bewilderment.
They confuse this fact, as if my identity must be part of a
Recurring trick.
Relationship.
A dance of solidarity.
Ifs and Buts unnourished.
Exhale without conviction.
Laughter turned into reconsideration.
Weight of The World
The Weight of the World
It’s heavy. It sits there quietly.
It’s solemn presence, agitating.
The storm wading; ships waning.
The message is clear:
Without you, there is fear.
A Forlorn Conclusion
Lost in your absence
I've gained nothing but resilience.
Bite my teeth as I remember
Y-our manoeuvres.
The dust settles.
Can't bring myself to leave you alone.
Eternally yours
But eternity awaits me, and there I am not here.
-gone
A paradox of insurmountable proportions
Like love,
we had something
Special.
I think I've already lost.
THE END
AS ONLY AN END CAN BE:
INDEFINITELY OBSOLETE.
End Notes:
"The problem, the reason why this world has been going downhill since the big bang, or Adam and Eve, whichever canonical scripture you have been led to believe, is that we are forever strapped to our solitary confines whose walls are not made of stone, but rather of rigid ideals that haunt us day in and day out without us knowing, or wanting to know it."
-S.A.G.A
"An internal struggle: a pain so consistently present, hidden beneath a superficial smile, thundering under the preserved charisma.
The Distorted Reality.
-N.G.V.
Afterword - Why I Write
We write for the sanity of our hearts, for the clarity of our minds, and for the grievance of our darkest thoughts. The paper, our best friend. The pen, our enemy. It’s an escape created. Victim to our thoughts; to our inconveniences.
We are souls of minds that drift. Putting pen to paper to swallow the swords’ of treasonous thoughts. For we are the slaves and the lordship; the rain and the bucket. An unconquerable conquest, always perceived to be at rest.
Yet steadily causing civil consequence.
But it is and will be, so I have to be.
The better I be, the better it is.
That’s the way,
It (life) gears.