“Flames burn at my feet . The wooden log, a guidepost to my death. I shall have become ashes in this accursed world of brute and man. Let this burning flesh be an emblem to the death of the feminine.
A pathway to God, Littered with blood and ashes, Scattered with flesh of the masses, Wrought onto this world by none other then thyself. Thou ought unleash hell upon thy own mother, ye foul creature of emotion and intellect.
The smoke reacheth the heavens, But the One denies creating ye, As you shall have denied me. Beware of thyself, you kill in delusion in order to satisfy your own illusion .”
“The longing in her stomach was unbearing, there she sat on a street , hungry , with her thoughts wondering , ‘oh if only I got to eat’ . As the daily bell rang , people walked in , all kinds of people , who believe they were good , looking good , doing good and yet somehow missed the lifeless girl on the streets , starved to death , her eyes staring into nothingness, as they walked into church , the house of God. The girl had managed to reached God before them .”
“The light was as bright as heavens. The pain was like fires from hell. As eternal darkness engulfed my world, this city was never brighter.”
“On a warm day you feel cool
On a bright day, you feel dark
As I look upon your name etched on a tablet
I slowly realise, our bodies maybe close, but our souls are far apart.
So here I stand, with flowers in my hand
This early morning, your beauty amplified by the misty dew,
Tears rolling down, joining the dew in seeping into the ground, in an effort to reach you.
There you lie, so close by, but so far away that my heart breaks everyday.”
“What is Art ? The meaning eludes me every-time I try to contemplate it. What is it ? An emotion ? An expression ? Is it the perspective ? Is it, perhaps, happiness manifested into real world counter-parts ? Art is the existence of music, of paintings, of writings and any such thing. Is it the brain ? Or is it the heart that controls our hands that move the pen, play the instrument or glide the brush ? Will I ever get it ? Art. Is it the freedom ? Is it the imagination ? Is it our deep desire to be something beautiful ? The universal language, the only one every human ever understood is Art. What is Art ? Is it a bond ? Is it a bridge to another’s heart ? I don’t understand Art. But perhaps one day, I will see a smile, on others and on myself. Maybe that day, I will finally have understood “Art”.”
Feeble Paul
Born in a storm among a litter of seven,
Paul, you were feeble but a gift from heaven.
Slowly living, fiercely struggling,
but loved by us as if a human being.
Taking care of you never seemed like a chore,
oh, if only you could see the sunlight ounce more.
Taken away by one of your own,
Leaving me forever to mourn.
Goodbye feeble Paul. I wish you knew your name,
and that I loved you like a precious gem.(Paul was a two month old pup who was killed by it’s siblings as it was feeble.)
The fragility of life
Only exposed when the moment has passed
When the precious ones have been lost,
when the light ceases to exist,
and darkness seems to hover like a mist.
Beautiful as the nature that births it,
yet fragile, such as we who embrace it.
The fragility of life(In memory of Annie and Max, two puppies
who are no more.)
Finally machine can look man in the eye, and whisper in the tongue of his mind.
Man was no longer the master, but the orchestrator for what was to come.
In my pursuit of happiness, I found nothing.
In my pursuit of value, I found peace.
In my pursuit of peace, I found happiness.
Ah thou internet, with thy unlimited knowledge and expanse.
Thee sprinkle knowledge on one who dares enter thy domains, thee endow upon the unknowing.
Thy lands be tread carefully, lest the mind be lost forever.
Be thy kingdom last forever, and be my thirst for ye knowledge never be quenched