Flustered Axons

To Ayesha,

I’ve gotten sick.
Sick in ways I only tell myself that it’s okay to be…
Painful really, but it’s not something I complain much about.
You know how I feel.
Deep down, the creeping spasms that make me want to hurl words of spite and nonacceptance.

See, I needed a pillow to bite really hard into,
but all I had was a heart to spear deeply from the mistakes of my past.
I want to cry on your lap like a little child and have you caress my forehead,
and tell me to stop worrying.

But I can’t ask of you to take the pain away from me.
It’s not yours to bear, but mine to savour deeply in anguish.

If I told you I was sorry that it’s gotten so far between us,
You’d probably say “It’s alright” and feel sad for hearing it for yourself,
that what you felt had happened, was indeed true.
You’re strong. I know that. But you’re human.

And in the time I’ve wasted, I’ve lost a lot of you.
So I won’t say I’m sorry…
But I’ll ask you, “Will you forgive me?”

For her leaving, the week ahead, the queen of my heart…

Fading away, further into a rigid nothingness,
On the tips of your toes, to a land far away,
Where telephone wires aren’t long enough to reach,
And where my letters will never find you.

Did I say goodbye enough?
Did I promise to wait for you,
like the times I held you in my arms through stabs and rips at your heart?
Did I scribble in my notes that I’d have to try to think of you?
Did I even tell you that I’ll see you in my dreams,
only to wake up in tears from your absence next to me?

Forgive my heart’s feeble emotion baby girl,
But it pines for you,
for it never lets a single moment flutter by,
without grasping your heart when we embrace deeply.
And forgive my weakly eyes,
as they see visions of your silhouette by my window in the early morning,
when you’re not lying next to me…

Promise me you’ll think of me?
That you’ll look at your phone in hopes of my pointless callls,
and my self-undoing messages…
Promise me you’ll bury your lips deep in your pillow at night,
as if it was as soft as my kiss,
Promise me you’ll love me hard enough,
that I’ll fall asleep with you in my mind.

Button, I love you. And I’ll truely miss you so…

Found this through a friend of mine. Emotions so closely placed to words belonging only to the author, enough to feel the last tear they cried with the crossing of the Ts and the dotting of the Is.

I felt it worth sharing with everyone…

Untitled by <Unknown Author>

What do you do when you awaketh from a timeless slumber?
When the hopes and strength you’ve gain from the dream finally crash and burn?
When as hard as you strive to achieve a form of perfection,
In the end, failing to capture or change any state of perception.

Where would you wander when you have nothing left to hold on to?
When your past is sullied by a fantasy,
When your present is aimless and without hope,
And your future, bleak and despondent?

Wouldn’t it be better to have never awakened from the very start?
To continue having the strength to change your faults,
To continue having hope to pull you through the darkest hour,
To continue having a past to hold on to, a present to strive on,
And a future to look forward to, despite how fictional it is?

As I sit here, voided and lost, I ask of yee,
What should I do now that I’m left with nothing to hold on to?
What should I look forward to now that the feelings are gone?
Where do I draw my strength from, now that everything’s over?

When I found that I never needed a notion within my heart to tell me I’d made a mistake, I cried with the beating of my chest : I’ve failed!

I can’t help myself but feel the remorse over a series of eventful misfortune…

If only I had a chance to recieve,
To accept the faith I deserve,
To see my self the way I perceive
If only I could see my mind conceive.

Did I leave my self finding another?
Did I ponder the silver linings of yonder?
Did I move a goal to settle with my happily-ever-after?
And now I ponder, it could all have been a lot more better.

If only I had been a better soul,
To allow my inner being to furnish a self-decided mould,
To find a light that would engulf me deep in a goal,
And if only aspirations never grew old…

Time changes, and boy, does it change fast.
I remember kicking the stand of my bicycle and pedaling down the steep hill in the park,
the wind strong against my face, my hair playing on the waves of the speedish-formed gale.
Pedaling away at speeds so fast that at one wrong turn of the handle,
could mean the most painful of infliction of wounds on the shins of my legs,
or the loudest looking bump on my head, screaming out the pain it implies.
But what did I care?

I mean really, did I need to look good in class the next day?
Did I really need to pass an exam the the follwing day?
Did I have to hand in an assignment or do something that would require both my limbs indefinitely?

Cares were the last thing on my mind on that bike.
With the wind in my face, all I cared about was how fast I could really go…

I wonder these days. Could I go faster now?
What if I were to kick the stand of that bike on last time,
and for one day only, pedal to the ends of the world.
Or maybe pedal fast enough that I might take flight into the heavens,
beyond all worry and into my abode of eternal carelessness.

Oh I wish I could fly. Every care in the world wouldn’t be my concern.
I could scour the skies for that elephant shaped cloud,
or dance among the twinkling little stars that would welcome me with open arms,
or jump over the moon and see what fun the cow and the little dog had.

Oh that cow… I bet he didn’t have to care about anything.
What I would give to be so free, so certain that everything would be fine…

But I’m not that kid anymore.
I don’t even have time to pick my paths anymore. I don’t to stand at my life’s crossroads, to cry and feel lost,
All this because I am growing…
Only because my bones tell the story of a life.
and only because my skin holds the history of my mistakes,
and only because my eyes, they grow deeper to form the crypts in which my tears flow,
as they see the future of decisions and responsibility,
laid down as the york on a horse that pulls a life of worthiness and fulfillment.

Oh the longing that comes from wanting to be free of care. But I am growing.
I am becoming a man. A man that has to stay strong like the arches that support the domes of a great hall.
I have to hold myself in a firm strong way. No less of an instant can I turn around to let go.

I am growing.
Growing to let others grow.
Growing to let the preachers of my life care no more.
Growing to allow the mistakes in my life count for something.
Growing to find a better hope in the world.
Growing to say that I truly loved… And was loved back.
Growing, so that one day, I can stand back,
and watch the children of my loins care for nothing,
and then watch them grow.
Then I would be ready to flow into the realms of which I was conceived as the smallest drop of paint in a bigger picture.

But for one last time, when my head lays so gently on my pillow tonight,
I will dream of the times when I wish I could fly.
And then, I will fly with my thoughts into another world,
not caring one bit, for what is to come tomorrow…

Over the last few years, I did a post of Khalil Gibran’s excerpt from the “On Children – Chapter IV” piece. My previous post about this can be read here.

I was browsing through my old pieces and found a post on me literally whaking Gibran on the head with a load of enthusiasm about having God as the center of upbringing. I completely misunderstood the meaning of the piece.

Here I would like to forward my apology to anyone whom may have been offended by my words in contradicting Gibran and my disrespectful use of incoherent meaning towards the publishing of this piece.

As I read further, I realised that the peice was directed at parents in leaving their children be, and hence, letting go of what was to be the “growing-up” of a child. In essence, leaving the being of a child to grow in spiritual wealth while the parents would have to watch upon the free will of spiritual choice-making and the physically dependent body.

This is only, as I said, an excerpt of a bigger picture of scripture by Gibran. I would recommend further reading into his works before searching through the factual meaning of his pieces. Most of them refer only to the most direct and spontaneous meanings of life in its self.

Again, with deep and sincere feelings of apology,
S.O.

To fiddle with the thoughts and judgments that ponder the acceptance of reason, for reason’s sake alone…

Closely, I ponder,
Does there have to be a reason for reason?
For reason in its self, makes the probablistic nature of reason,
Stand for its self.

Closely, I ponder,
Would I never again accept reason?
Will reason then only precipitate more room for excuse,
so that only now reason… is excuse.

Then, closely again, I ponder,
Would I not want to need to accept to believe in reason?
For if reason is only a psychosocial space for excuse,
what then is my option for believe?

But then, closely, I ponder,
Do I need reason to have an excuse only to live?
For if an excuse defines my presence for life,
Then I would rather die away from the presence of life in its self,
for only then would I find peace, gazing through a locked window into myself…

- Essence of life, here, is rather the state of being when people surround only to crowd and accept the common accepted for company of another… Troubled times when the needy walk the lonely earth to find solace in the sanctuary of pretentious hearts and fickle sap-blurred visions of truth… Ponder only on words of acceptance. For life is now… As it has always only preceded the downfall of the skeptical, when scrutinized under the lenses of deliberate judgment, hence I leave thee with only one thought : About when? -

Here’s to not accepting the accepted by the common accepted only because some common accepted feel that the accepted isn’t very much a point.

Justice, I wholly disapprove of your ability to justify the just.
In times of acceptance, may you fall into the depths of hell,
With your cronyism and use of leverage to power the masses,
I pray you fall deep into hell as with the departed souls of the demons;
Demons that once ran the powers of the world,
Demons that Caesar bowed down to,
Demons that God himself clicks his tongue in displeasure at.

May you fall deep into the fiery tongues of flame that would teach you;
Teach you lessons worth learning by the carving studded whips through skin,
Teach you lessons accepted by the most common of the uncommonly accepted.
I will you not the pleasure of understanding the levels of thought in me,
Because till today, even displeasure at the sight of me, makes you agitated,
And makes me smile with the malice of victory over your incapacitated mind.

Justice, I fairly judge you.
I will call you names in the sight of your foes,
And revel in the power over the relativity of your common.
See my presence and feel that even in joy, you find grief.
I tell tales of truth when I put my tongue to the song.
This I know only true because I see you whimper,
in the corners of the earth that only hides the leveled lies,
and illuminates the vicious truth…

Oh justice, I so very disapprove of you.
When hierarchy puts me to the test of nerves,
When power keeps you weak with the common accepted,
and strong with the uncommonly accepted.

Justice… You are weak. By your shaking feet, you are weak.
May you rot like a diseased body left to the flies,
open to the prospective stench of death and putrid indulgence in loose flesh.
You take the form of mature faeces,
and may you be loved the way a mother loves her son’s murderer.
I pray you wallow in woe and never leave the home you built from sputum and rancid pus.

In the end, Justice, you are nothing but a substandard in human life.
Pre-existent to the love of anyone.
You deserve nothing but hate!

As the common may accept, may the uncommon live in suffering and remorse.

To the uncommon – I HATE YOU TO THE CORE OF YOUR EXISTANCE!

When opportunity crossed my path so fast, almost missing me by a fraction of a femtometer  at 3.00 a.m. on the 11th of January, 2010, I grabbed it by the collar and squeezed the inspirational lemons it had carried with it for a lemon quishe it was planning to make… And the lemonade I made with it:

It’s time…

It’s finally time that I must actually say something. I’m done hiding under the moss tainted, musk smelling rock I call my salvation, feeling the earth rub between my fingers and my palms and my hands, leaving the calluses, blisters and wounds of regret for every shitty, pathetic move I make in my life to hide myself from the truth; from happiness; from very life its self.

You helped me. You came and you stretched out your callused, blistered and bleeding hand and you beckoned me to try, with every last reason I had for life to allow me joy, to reach for it… And you helped me realise the reality. I no longer feel the need to guard the gates of the fortress housing what remains of my decrepit soul. I’m done staying that safe distance of, erm, 275853242 trust meters away from everyone else’s life. But you’ll never know how much that is… Because it was mine to make up. It was mine to make up, so that I could tell myself that if I stayed at that very distance from people, I WOULD NOT get hurt. Funny how it still happens. But who am I kidding if I said you didn’t already know what it felt like…

You’re too much like me to not really know what the measure already means. Wouldn’t that also mean you’d want to stay that far away from me. Somehow, you’re still learning a thing or two about what I am and what I’m not. But because we play out to be soul-graspingly alike, you and me still don’t get each other, but we’ll twist every thought of not being sure about each other into a pretense and lie to each other with the look of admirable confidence, tied at the edges of expression on our faces, that we can read each other like open books.

But you’re within the boundaries of my life as it already is, so it’s time that I attempt to pronounce mere words no where near enough to define the thoughts in my head and the feelings in my heart… Strangely enough, I know I’m never going to comprehend what I’m saying, but you’ll understand this in your own way. Here goes near to as everything;

When you say that you need me, there was only a thought in my mind : That you want me because it was necessary for the joy you had to feel to stay on living. That would mean I had to set apart my life from myself, so I could share it with you, to walk with you, for joy was so important when it was at most, needed by you… And not wanted.

When you tried with all you had to sing a song of comfort, your voice wrapped itself around my being, my psyche, my universe, my essence, drawing ever single note of worth from the lengthy rivers of arbitrary thought streaming endlessly in my mind, only to drain them into the widest of waters of understanding of you and why you needed to share a bit of your life with me. And that was enough to keep me wanting more of your intellectual presence in my life.

And when you were joyfully smiling from cheek to cheek with enough nerve to mess with the possibility of togetherness for life, you made me think about what would have been precarious, and what can be a settled certainity; almost as certain as the tickling of a perfectly tuned piano would produce the notes it had to with the tone and crux of immaculate music, to allow itself a lifetime of expectation and requirement.

And it’s time I allowed you to finally learn to learn me. I’m already done keeping the annoyingly hidden paths to the centres of my heart, heavily warded to everyone. My heart, I now open to you and I know you’ll understand me when I cry out with as much as I have left, on knees wounded by the coarse, graveled silt my life was built on, for you to make enough of an effort, to fight for what you know would be something forever would love to hold on to.

But maybe there would be a time for precariousness to whether out and settle as certainties so fortified and maybe then, hiding under stones would have been a good thing.

Because if it wasn’t, then when could it possibly have been time for me to say what’s really deep in my heart, enveloping the core of my soul? When would it have been time for me to say…

I find it deep in my heart to say I love you,
But I also know that if I told you I did,
You would never love me the way I do.

The thing is, I love you truely.
It’s not a feeling I hold against you…
It’s not even a vengeful gesture I throw at your face…
Heck it’s not even a reason for me to get into your pants!
Gosh, we all know that’s not a necessary reason, now, is it?

No, I love you because I can, baby.
I love you because I know that there’s something in you,
Something I desire so much to keep in my life…
I need your passion and I want your love.

There, I said it. I WANT your love.
But can you give it to me?
Can you put aside your fucked up emotions,
your snide and rude remarks,
and that thing I call your past phase in your life.
YES IT’S A FUCKING PHASE.
And it’s played it’s self so dry
that the Sahara being void of water
would be downright over-stating it.

I find it deep in my heart to say I love you,
but I also know that if I told you I did,
You’d find some way to screw up my life,
AND MAKE IT ALL ABOUT YOU!