Through half closed eyes, I saw wind rippling through the tiny spider web spun between two sturdy blades of grass. I tried to focus on the beads of moisture glistening on the web's silky strands. Every breath wheezed in brought with it a strong smell of freshly dug earth. It felt comforting in a way. I hung on to that familiar smell. It seemed to lessen the fear of the alien feeling spreading in my chest. My lungs seemed to be filled with countless tiny shards of glass and any effort of movement slashed my insides with deliberation that I would stop as immobile as before. I could hear the distant and muffled sounds of a raging battle. Shouts, yells, war cries, monotonous drone of fired rounds. Sometimes falling rockets and grenades made the ground tremble.
"tamur..." a whisper.
I forced my eyes open. Did someone call my name? did I close my eyes?...I was cold.
"I cannot let myself sleep" I thought. I did not know why I had to stay awake but it was an instinctive reflex to try and keep my eyes opened. It seemed important somehow. But it was so comfortable. To close my eyes. It seemed to lessen the cold. "Maybe for a little while" I thought; my eyes already closed.
"tamur..." a fleeting whisper.
It was a raspy voice. It was ancient. It commanded reverence. I was scared. My eyes darted back and forth to the extent of their vision trying to find the caller. "It's the wind playing tricks" I tried to reason with myself. "Or maybe your mind is making it up" I argued. In the back of my mind I knew I have never heard that voice and it was too significant to be conjured up or be a hallucination. What is it then? Who is it?. Now frantic I wanted to move. I wanted to face the caller with my weapon drawn. I willed myself to move, to grunt or squeal, to jerk and tremble. Anything to keep the invisible vulture off of me. But I couldn't. Fear spread like an icy glacier, chilling the core of my being.
I could sense someone all around me, or something. It slithered on the wind, closing in on me...
Is this the end?
but the deed is not done
This must not be the end
Glory is yet to be had....
A recurring dream from what seems like a long time ago. The time of glory came and went. On the brink of destiny all that was permitted was a compromise, a minor victory, a small battle won. Legends were constructed and immortal bonds were formed. Differences were settled in the most primitive forms of conflict known to man. In a remote region, where existence of life is not particularly important to the civilized world, battles were fought for the preservation of honor and respect, protection of values and creeds, to keep ablaze the fires of feral vengeance for it has long since replaced blood as sustenance in our veins.
"So many roads at my feet..."
Fate is constructed as a labyrinth. Freedom and perfection of choice does not affect the absolute outcome but only helps in achieving it. Which means it still leaves room for the manifestation of virtues and vices, either of which can assume greatness and exude revolutions. So while choosing from the choices laid out and stumbling towards the pre-planned grand finale', what is the significance and relative importance of wants, wishes, hopes, dreams and desires? our better worlds? the ones we require in order to make it all 'better'?. Who's to say if the better formed in our minds is in fact better?. Once formed, many among us do not stop and question the legitimacy, logic and certainty of our assumptions regarding our own wants and desires, especially not at the time of their formation and deployment. It's there, Solid. An Idea. An Image. An Ideal. So once formed, this 'better' is not questioned, but pursued. After beginning the chase, it's logical basis are never questioned. So what if our 'better' is not really better than the one chosen for us? what if we're forcing it on the actual 'better' which is imposed by, drawn by the Creator of the Labyrinth in the first place?
However, we must always wander off and explore but our cravings for 'better' must be consistently prodded and cautiously observed.
Better is relative.
Better is just a perspective.
Some events or incidents shape lives indefinitely. There's no escape from it. Like Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Once a man bore the ring, he carried the weight forever. This life is too short to forget some stories and let go of some memories. There’s no glory in death. The sham of immortality led many a great men on impossible quests so the names may be remembered forever. However, the notion of immortality’s equivalence to an immortal name was an obvious paradox overlooked by most that were driven by an insatiable desire of continued existence. Heroes, warriors and leaders, immortality has afflicted great men since the birth of legends and stories.
A leader masters his values. This also makes him the Aristotelian tragic hero of his own tale. His virtues that require reciprocation, fail to realize its absence in others due to their own severity. Or even if they understand the lack of reciprocation, they overlook it for the same reason; confounding his senses and hiding his enemies.
“...what did I tell you about negativity?”
I understand how pessimism operates. Negativity breeds negativity. But how long do you shy away from harsh realities under your umbrella of positivism? What if even after analyzing and understanding the bare bones of this world and the people in it, even after gleaning profound knowledge of the human psychology and thought process, you still come to the same conclusion that no matter what you are marked, you are the chosen one and that you will tread the paths laid out for you, you will chose from the choices made available, you will be devoid of permanent comforts and will have no familiar and you will be nothing but an unparalleled master of chaos and destruction. So if that's what has forever overshadowed your mortal memories; starry nights, sunshines and rainbows are just not going to be enough.
It's not negativity, it's not pessimism or self pity. It's not a plea. It's a statement. It's realization of finality.
Finality. Usually associated with age, is it just the termination of mortality or something more? is it only an omen of impending doom? approaching fate? inevitable divine imperative?. I believe it is more. It's the acceptance of a flawed existence. It's coming to terms with the hard coded realities in your genes. It's an old man in a guitar shop smiling at me and telling me he's looking for one final guitar. It's relief for the eternally aggrieved. It's a peculiar trait of candid leaders and warriors.
With you, I danced a dance slower than time
Faster than light
your molten incandescence burning, etching memories,
eternal and immortal,
You burned and melted,
twirled and twisted,
Oblivious to the existence of I,
who, nameless and faceless, watched
in wonder, felt in awe,
with you,
glass ballerina
I danced my first dance
My halo chokes me as I end my days alone. I have longed for affections. I have craved for care. I have dispensed it all but received none. I shared and revealed. For a while even pity was acceptable, it was better than nothing. But I discovered that it was all a bit more cruel than I had originally anticipated. I knew the mutation in my genes, the evil of tragedy in my blood, but I hoped.
There's no one.
So I stop now. I've already named my emotions little. I've already demeaned the tale. Henceforth, none will hear or see anything but a facade.
Maybe its different...
in another life.
