The clock in the waiting room ticked. The rhythmic sound penetrated my eardrums. Tick tick tick tick
Waiting, we’re all waiting
Hoping we’re all hoping
Next to me she sat, close enough, I could almost hear her heart beats..blood pumping into mine..
“when are you leaving?” I dared to ask
“im not going anywhere”
“You’ll have to eventually”
She was silent. Her serenity calmed my raging mind..
tick tick tick
the hand on the clock moved rapidly. Faster..rotating non-stop
seconds,minutes,hours,days,weeks,months,years.
“ its been three years, when are you leaving?”
“ im not going anywhere”
“ I might start to believe”
“Belief is what you need”
she didn’t move.
Not even when the harsh wind swept everything around us. Not even when the hope withered and died like a fallen autumn leaf. Not even when the sky rained thorns on our heads. Not now not ever.
“Never” her voice, not above a whisper.
“if I failed?”
“Impossible”
“ if I fell?”
“ you’ll get up. you are capable”
tick tick tick tick
waiting, we’re all waiting
hoping we’re all hoping
beneath my feet, the ground was solid.
My heart was engulfed with a surreal warmth..comfort..A certain knowledge that one day. ill reach the unattainable..
With her, still by my side
Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tucked in her jacket against the cold breeze, she stepped into the puddle, staggering her feet up and down. She watched the water intently. Pure. Transparent. Beautiful.
She wondered if it was real enough to touch. If she could run her tiny little fingers through it. would it feel as mesmerizing as her innocent eyes perceived? Slowly, she spread her arm. Daring to step closer. She looked around her, at the crowd behind her. Their eyes wide open. Were they as fascinated as she was?
closer closer closer.
.she moved her body along with her arm. She closed her eyes, shutting them tight.
Tickling. Chilling. Numbing.
Giggles escaped her mouth and she grinned widely.
How can she let them know about the pleasure in her heart? How can she make them believe? she ran around still fascinated. At the never ending circle of dancing water..her curiosity was beyond words. The moments she was living were beyond joy..if only the could feel it..if only there was a way she could make them understand that it really can be touched
Sometimes it is that one moment that makes us all see that we have all held onto that inner child, that free spirit that no matter how much we try, we can never be free from.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Somewhere on the train, she sat. In silence. Looking beyond the lines. To the far heavens above. She listened to the sound of the track. On-going beneath her. Shaking her to the core.
They ask her. why do you believe? Why do you still hold on when everything is falling apart? Why do you see the birds when there are sharks below? People die. In pain. People are hurt. In vain. People are hungry. why do you believe? If God is the most merciful. why do they ache?
She touches the window with her fragile hands, the coldness of the glass makes her shiver. The sound of thunder shook her from her trance.
Its not his wrath. its not his wrath. he’s just quenching the thirst of his earth. The almighty
He’s just answering their prayers. The almighty
How else would they appreciate the beauty of his blue skies if they didn’t see the grey?
How else would they hear him?
How else would they see him?
If not for the rain. If not for the sun .if not for the pain. If not for the details.
How else? How else would they know his mercy if they didn’t feel his wrath?
Do they not feel scared in alleys after the safety of their homes?
Do they not see the morning after the chillness of the night?
She wondered if the train is ever going to stop..if they will ever reach their destination.
She looked around at the faces. At the young at the old. At the healthy at the weary. At the happy at the miserable..
He sees each. he knows each. he holds each. he listen to each. he forgives each..
Each is blind
Is deaf
Is mute
Each only chooses when to see him, hear him, and talk to him.
Each thinks praying is reaching him..Kneeling is finding him.
The truth is. he’s already there. all each have to do is see him,hear him,feel him..
Friday, December 05, 2008
When I was young, I twirled around the rusty garage pole, gripping it so hard with my hands, refusing to let go. Round and round. I twirled. Waiting for the world to blur in my eyes. And when it did, I stopped abruptly. My black dirty feet rooted to the ground.
Fascinating
The world rotated. Danced. Mutated. And then rotated back and stood still. All in a second.
Brilliant
The power I had. The power I had.
When I was young, I sharpened my pencil every few seconds, escaping the tormenting stares of the math workbook. I stood by the bin and watched the curl become longer and longer. More curls. 4+9=?. More curls. 7-13=?.And more curls. The bell rang. My pencil wasn’t striped anymore. Nothing but a sharpened tip.
When I was young, I stroked the brush on the white canvas. Up and down. Right and left. A dark grey blob was what I painted. I tried the red and then the green. The yellow. The blue. and the blob grew bigger, darker and uglier. It could be a boat. Or a cat. Or a sock. Or it just couldn’t be. All I wanted was a swing.
When I was young, I hid under the kitchen sink and waited. Water dripped onto my eyes but I remained still until I heard my name.
“The game ended you win, come out”I smiled and got up. Yelped as my head crashed into the sink.
bitter victory
When I was young, I poured water into the pot and stirred, watching the bubbles pop and form. I added more ingredients..twigs, pebbles, leaves. And more soil. I stirred and stirred until the brown mixture became softer and smoother. No one held pretence; no one tasted my chocolate mousse.
When I was young, utopia was possible