journey through

Crushing emptiness I am friends with a crushing emptiness that sends venom from my limbs and all through my body, paralyzing me. I want to move, but my legs rebel. I want to look ahead, but my eyes are misty with tears. I am a lonely man today, feeding myself off lies and half-truths, trying to make sense of the unfortunate episodes that nature forced on me. Given the chance I would not have chosen this curse, but sadly, it is the curse that chose me, and it has followed me ever since, like a kind friend, like a shark a bleeding man. I have run and cut corners, but this pain demands to be heard. It has taken my heart, it has imprisoned my body, and all I have left now is my hoarse voice, and even that is not loud enough. Call her back. Maybe she is the antidote. She is the one who bit me in the first place; maybe knowledge of her poison would give me hope. Maybe I will take comfort in the sight of her shadow. I believe in her, like a benevolent god. I guess my heart never learns. I gue

Let us not live in the world of lies where questions are asked in the heat of the moment and answers given in the hours of drunkenness. Let us not be in a hurry to look at each other when bullets are flying left, right and centre, when we are all clouded by fear and false bravado. Let us not cross the line that is drawn between us, the line that separates the sane from the rest of us. We are but lovers in the night, touching around to feel our way, running into obstacles in an attempt to outrun each other. We are but a people running after nothing but ourselves. We are meant to be but strangers with miles between us in this giant bed of life. We are nothing but naked men and women chasing after lust, after satisfaction that will keep us on our toes for a minute and fill us with guilt the next. We are but a people glowing in the aftermath of our sin, afraid of where we have come from, afraid of where we are going, chasing after our very own tails like demented dogs. We are lovers

Hans Burgkmair the elder (1473 - 1531). RA Collection When times became unkind to me, I wrote a prayer to fate, telling it to have mercy on me, for I was but an innocent lamb, and it replied with a noose around my neck and a stool at my feet. I wrote to fate, to tell it that my days had become harsh and unfair, but it told me to sit and pray, like all the other mortals. I told it that my master had closed his eyes and heart to me, but it told me that I was not loud enough. It told me to stand on the rooftop, to rend my clothes and to pierce my skin in holy supplication, but I told it that my knees were weak and my will was like a sunken well, of no use. I told it that I wanted to pray with my heart, but that was where it hurt most and it told me that I was too far from redemption. I wrote to fate and told it that my lips were chapped and that my throat was raspy, and it told me to accept my sentence, to serve like the prisoner of life, to live trapped like a rogue and greedy mou

With utter despondence the warrior falls by the wayside, exhausted by war, exhausted by peace. It has come to an end and he knows it, the many journeys, the many calls, the longing, the hunger and the haunts by his long defiled wife. Time has been an unkind friend, denying him the taste of death, filling his heart with a longing for nothingness, a hunger and a wailing that will never be satisfied, a thirst that will drain his soul. ‘War has no victors’ has been his sigh for so long, even when voice fled from his throat, mercy from his heart, and fear and ire took the place of blood in his veins. He has seen it all. He has seen his friends fall, he has seen his enemies collapse. He had taken them all with a brave eye, with a brave heart, but nightmares wait till he closes his eyes, and they consume him with relentless torture. He thought he was hard, but war made him realized just how brittle he was, just how fragile his ego was. He had a huge sword, but his dreams, his nightmar

RAPTURE, RAPTURE, and I knew that the messiah was coming. I looked into myself and saw a chimney full of soot. My broom to find I could not, and I knew my testimony had long been prepared, and life had kept scores of my deed and my circumstance. I heard the trumpet sound, and I saw the saints walk ahead. I could not follow them, for my clothes were red and dripping, and while they smelled of sweet incense, I reeked of poison. My sins trailed me like an unwanted shadow, and my hands refused to hide my face. I ran into a house to seek respite, and there I saw a fan that had long stopped moving, and windows caked with dust. It reminded me of a place I had long abandoned, of circumstance I had long taught myself to forget. Looking back into my house, I could see the walls written in blood, scrapped by fingers, of the torture I wrought. The floor was dotted with shattered mirrors and broken dreams, a testimony of how I lived, a precursor to how I’ll die. Rapture, rapture, have mercy on my

For a man who cannot stomach violence, maybe because I am afraid of being clobbered or that I cannot fight, I find this idea quite interesting. How does a grown-up man, with 32 teeth fight a fellow man over a girl? It was an embarrassing scene, men in clean, white shirts rolling on the ground, on top of each other, exchanging blows and hurling unprintables, and the girls watched, aghast, at these men who would become their husbands, boys who would become their boyfriends. Children were cheering the two grownups, and I pity them, for I know not where they will hide their faces when they have to traverse these streets again. Come to think of it, I believe it is time we got our priorities straight and stopped fighting over fickle things. There are ways to solve conflict, without having to involve arms. As man grows up, he gains intellect, sheds off his young and stupid self, and with it, foolish behaviour departs. Taking a look at matters today however, some of these illicit behaviours

Friends, I am calling to thee, for I have run into hard times, oh I have. Grief has engulfed my house, trapping me and my family. Hard times have arrived. The wineskin has gone empty, and my granaries are all dried up. There is no more for my plate, and there is no more for my table. Time has truly caught up with me. Wake up now, my friends. Stir from thy deep slumber, and keep vigil with me, as I stir my pot of sorrow. Stay a while longer, while I heave in grief. Stay with me, ere sorrow overruns me, and I get lost in my blues, and I lose my way in this thick forest. Wake up friends. I desire thy company now, but alas, why is the space around me so empty and cold? Where art thou, all ye that ate at my house, when we had a feast, all ye who spent with me the days when wine was flowing? Where are you, right now that I am in sorrow? That disease and loneliness assails me? Where are you, friends, now that the world has come crashing down, and rain is coming through my roof and into my ho

Break me again Assailed I am, with a cold yearning for someone, who sees me not, and thinks not of me. In love I am, with a memory of what once was. In love with the past that bound my hands and feet, tied a millstone round my neck, and sought to throw me into the sea. I have returned to the barren wasteland where we once dwelled, where our dreams once sought to take root, only that now I am alone. I am the only one, lost in the maze of things, for she moved on long before I did, long before I even fell in love. She won the race, before I even began. She broke off into a sprint, before I was even ready to jog. But such is love, long teeth, fangs that sink into your heart, rob you blind and leave you in turmoil, a bull that assails you, a fire that burns inside. So to cinders, let me burn. Let it scorch me, my yearning. Here in this darkness, I bow in supplication to the memories of you. Take me back to the love we had, to the love we lost. Reignite the demons of what we once loved, of