Lamentation

There is a grief that is like no other
It infects the eyes too subtly
                                    it cannot be seen
The mind is seared, the spirit is extinguished
Yet not one man has ever felt pain or loss
It is a flame that burns, yet leaves no trace
It is the most dangerous weapon in the world
So dangerous that no one ever gets the advantage
                                    all sides are defeated
                                    all teams lose

This is the grief of the mother whose child rises to power and fame
This is the grief of the lover whose beloved has kissed him for the first time
This is the grief of the graduate whose valedictory address has been spoken
This is the grief of the nationalist who saw the revolution happen
This is the grief of the artist after finishing a masterpiece
This is the grief of the king as he looks at the expanse of his kingdom

It is the grief of destiny, of chance, and of fate
It is the grief of reality
That as one savors victory, triumph, success
       as a human being achieves his life-long goal
                                                his desire
                                                his purpose
There is another that groans in pain and misery
And takes all the inequality and oppression
Instead of you

Solace at Solstice

I mourn for the soothing wind,

It is lonely, and will always be

I mourn for those who never sinned

Mercy they will never see

I mourn for the early sun,

It gives light but unto itself

I mourn for all the things undone

Like old, unopened books on shelf

I mourn for the radiant sky,

It can never touch the ground

I mourn for those who wish to fly

They get lost; they're never found

I mourn for the evening star,

Or what remains of its past light

For what turns sweetness into sour

Or day into the night

I mourn for the comet's tail,

It will never return

I mourn for the weak and frail

Their strengths society spurn

I mourn for the midnight moon,

It is the sad reflection of humanity

The widow, the orphan, the dead, the loon

Oppressed by hostile insanity

I mourn for those who always mourn

They do for mourning's sake

For with the truth we are reborn

A banquet, we partake.

Timelessness

In a world of the temporal, will the lost human race ever have lasting possessions? Which things last?

Change, the flux of the universe.

Love, the supreme driving force.

Existence, that which willed itself into being.

Grace, the great preserver.

Destiny, the third-person observer.

Harmony, the pattern of chaos.

Hope.

Pleas

Chains of trouble that bind the heart to the depths of despair, vanish!

Totally painful. It is very painful to face a crisis alone. The crushing weight of the problem seems impossible to resolve in the absence of a friend. It is too lonely.

When can man say that his companion is a friend? When there's concern. When there's sincerity. When there is a yearning to listen and empathize, not just empty words of unneeded advice.

Of course, every human being has the capability to think. No one is truly stupid in  its own sense. Each person knows what his actions mean, or that there is a purpose to it. Even the purpose of not having a purpose is a purpose in itself.

Well then, why do so many people misjudge others, why do they talk, preach, and even rebuke when what one needs is a listening ear and a pure willingness to embrace the problem as if it was their own?

Most especially, why do humans correct the mistakes of others that they themselves commit? Why are they trapped in constant hypocrisy in commanding things they never do? It is a pity that the eye cannot see itself.

And it is a pain that some friends never truly understand the big picture.

Gratitude

For the year that is coming, and for the year that will pass away; a turning point becomes a milestone. The milestone then becomes a monument, especially for its sculptors and his benefactors. And the sculptor wants their patrons recognized.

For the hearing out of those pleas with which only the most sensitive ear can listen to. The deepest secrets which were born out of both desperation and insecurity, the tales of which the living tragedy unfolds. A dark truth that pierces the hearer and binds the teller to secrecy, with which only courage and sincerity could undo. For knowing, and genuinely being there.

For the amusement despite everything, for the joy amidst the pain. For the smiles, the giggles, and the concerned look. For the effort to bring comfort, of which even for the perpetrator is not given back. Sincerity. And for the dignity that is restored.

For the chance to be the listener of woes. The sharing of suffering, the stories of personal failures, the empathy. For the innocence, even if  it is a mere illusion, and the feeling of having a companion in the sea of troubles. For the play.

For the ironic friendship which have lasted despite constraints. The humor, the laughter, the things one cannot even talk about with other people. The physical bullying that normal people would render brutal, that which even strengthened both parties. Most especially for the subconscious understanding, with which the other has extended so much support as to even help out for mere survival of the other. One cannot live without.

For the darkest endeavours into the vast depths of emotions. The similar journey into a winding path of pain, agony, and what is all called reality. For the guidance, and the disillusionment from the ivory tower of ignorance to the painful truth of experience. For the unwavering, silent faith in What Is. The paradox of the light shining on the way and the darkness that creeps into the innermost vacuum of the soul.

For the mere presence of perfection. Splendor, grandeur, everything. For a chance at love.

Things change. Life remains the same. The wanderer has accepted his fate. The storyteller bows down with gladness. The poet puts down his pen. The scientist studies the world. The philosopher gazes at the sky once more. The realist steers the boat.

The writer hopes that his audience will understand what was written, as the sculptor murmurs a hearty “Thank you. Very much”.

Endless

I define human actions, future events, and chains of consequences. I see through hearts and minds, and i weave upcoming occurrences through the fabric of human interdependence. I send notions into action, and I choose the path of the universe itself. I am destiny.

I am the boundary of the vast unknown and life. I send souls to rest, and I pick dying candles into the places where they are headed to. I am a simple and timely visitor, yet my realm is hidden until I come. The living fear me, but the wise understand my existence. I am death.

I float in the world of possibilities. In the merging of minds through the slumber of should I create oracles and visions and phantoms of what can be. The endless labyrinth of alternate realities slip through my hand, as the sands of fantasy linger and disappear with waking. I am dream.

I am the icon of reality, as things created disappear. All of the universe are in constant change as I choose new forms soon to prevail. Humans loathe me, yet I maintain existence through the balance of movements. With my sill things perish, yet this simply makes room for the new. I am destruction.

Fires are my favourite, as I kindle spirits and put motion into human live. I am purpose, I am reason, I am the essence of humanity. With my will the world is under my control. I flow through the innermost chambers of one's heart, as I give meaning to life itself. I am desire.

I am eternal pain, I am suffering itself. I am the darkest entity of intelligence. I look out of mirrors of the unlucky, of the oppressed, and of the lonely. I cut off trees of alternate realities, as I block the paths of dilemma and create blank stares of disillusionment. I am despair.

I live by myself, as people think they do. I am the chaos of logic, the order of randomness. I am chance inside the unrestricted mind, as I dance in the vast skies of the unbounded consciousness. I am loss of control, I am the speeding kite in outer space. I am delirium.

Will, existence, reality, substance, hatred, hope, sanity, the governing aspects of the human mind at hand. Anthropomorphic metaphors of universal themes, they are the endless beacons of the conscious existence. Each with eternal power and unbounded obligation, the symbols now speak and reveal a message.




Will you bow down and be our servant, or face our challenge and be our heir?

Fireflies

    To fly like a particle in the vast space of the universe, what existence is that? To move in the surreal fabric of time and eternity, what purpose would it serve? To glow in the vast realm of darkness, what kind of life would that be?

    What kind of existence would this be?

    In the interweaving of pluralities and idiosyncrasies, there is a united doubt as to what is what and why. The truth, the ideals, both words have blurred due to cultural diffusion and social revolutions. And the philosophers are bothered.

    From a worm's-eye view the entropic problems are massive and overwhelming. Societal deconstruction and behavioral liberation create a pandemic wave of dissatisfaction and genuine poverty. Sociologists are alarmed.

    Parallel histories have drawn up cyclic motions of distress and catastrophe. Even the physical world is crumbling down into a runaway reaction mechanism of climate instability, biological decline and resource scarcity. Scientists shake their heads.

    What, then, would this pathetic chain of events lead to? The downward spiral seems to lead to absolute despair, towards the bottomless abyss coined “hell”. The “End of the World”, isn't it? Or perhaps the end of this world, out of the many worlds that has so far been imagined? What is the answer? What definitely was the question? Why?

    The firefly flew out of its hiding place. It is night, and it is time. It flashes out its signal, it send bursts of yellowish green light while whirling in characteristic flight. Where would the other be? The insect dances, not knowing any better, as if the whole world is watching its majestic performance. The dance of nature.

    Indeed it has an audience, but it is a man whose gaze is blank and empty. As he sees the faint glowing thing, he is amused. Bio-luminescence, the conversion of chemical energy into light with the smallest amount of heat! Cold light, spectacular biological process, the audience stares at the fleeting streaks of green glow. Yet he sees it from a distance, his appreciation fading into the dark nothingness. He is somber once more.

    Yet, as if acting on cue, the firefly went nearer to him. It danced, it swayed, it went closer. Its light got brighter, and its dance seemed more slow and deliberate. And then, as if caught in the alien trance, he extends his arms and opens his palm. The insect drew closer, then landed in his finger.

    The light! In his finger!

    He was frozen, looking in disbelief at the little creature that rests in his hands. What had brought it to him? Was it tired of flying, or is it part of the drama? The insect wriggled, but to his amazement it did not fly away. It was just there, glowing on and off like a living Christmas light.

    And he marveled at its beauty.

    Yes, it is the problem of globalization that contrasting cultures are bashing each other. Racism, discrimination, exchange of insults between two groups who claim that one is a falsity of the other, all these things trouble everyone. Who should we follow? To whom should we believe? Yet to determine which is right or which is wrong does not matter in the end; it is to appreciate the goodness in each, and the diversity of the whole that is essential.

    Many people are suffering the pains of the world, and yet there also exists those who have been given much. This does not mean, however, that the current world is simply unfair and the society is to be abolished. In perspective each individual has been given the same, it is a matter of seeing what one has in abundance. And what one is in excess and the other in need, one gives. Thus the value interdependence arises, and what is important is not that differences should be abolished but the inner selfishness.

    The Earth is a large entity, yet it should be known that it is finite. It is a self-operating machine that acts in accordance to the laws of matter and physical existence, and what is put upon it the Earth simply responds in return. For centuries man fought its way against nature to survive, yet it has now reached a point that he should fight his own creations for survival; and at times man fights man for personal gains. Therefore how can man survive? He should first restore himself. If man finally understands why he must act, he would stop thinking of himself. And if he did, he would be able to cooperate with others. And once he understands his own machinations he gains insight as to the workings of nature itself,  to which he is part of. And thus he can restore the Earth at last.

    And how is all these possible?

    Because man hopes.

    The man was still gazing when he sensed that the insect was about to go. He looked at it more closely, as if seeping the light into himself. But he realized that it wasn't needed at all, that he was just reminded of a fact he knew all along. And as, at last, the firefly flew out, the man stares, marveling at how the tiny being can dissolve the darkness, his darkness.