Tag Archives: expression

essays of longing

Varúð (Caution, 2015)
Varúð (Caution, 2015)

I imagine that I’m typing these words on an old and rusted typewriter. My fingers hit each letter; the keys creak and bend; they give way against my will. My will is on paper; each word is a representation; each word, the bubbling of a storm kept shut for years. What happens next?

Caution, time tried to teach me; caution. But there is no faltering in this flight. Freedom is too powerful a spell. Craving, I’m craving for one more flight, one more step, higher and higher; faster and faster, like a shooting star- unraveling, burning and blinded.

There is only one way to go now, there is only one goal. No disappointment, no sorrow, no golden gates that bar the way shut. I can’t stop, I won’t stop and nothing will stand in my way. I won’t cry, I won’t tremble; a kiss will not break me, your words will not hurt me. There is no power here but sadness; there is no fear here but loneliness. There is not a day it doesn’t rain; not a single day the white marks are washed away. Behind this unbreakable wall of greedy clouds, there is a sun, there is a light, there is a start, there is a way, a path, unlit today and dark at night, but there is a path I struggle to find.

Take me in your arms. Don’t break my wings. Don’t stop my flight. Take me in your arms. Don’t let me go, don’t drown my dreams. Take me in your arms, don’t turn away, don’t let me fall. Take me in your arms and we’ll fly together; I’m not afraid and I’d share your fears. Take me in your arms, don’t walk too far, I will follow.

I swear I will follow.


Waters of the Heart

Waters of the Heart (2015)
Waters of the Heart (2015)

In chaos, I find salvation. Amidst the storm of this living, each day, with the rising; each day, the breaking of the new wonder. I saw a glimpse of the sun in the water; sat by the water and saw it glide and move; a steady rhythm. In his presence, I felt calm. In his presence, the earth wasn’t restless. Today, and only today, I whispered, I flew. In his presence, the world was all right. This side of the bridge, this side of the oneness, this side of the doubts and fears, the crumbling begins, the outer pieces falling.

In his presence, the world was all right. In his presence, the moon sunk low. In his presence, the night song grew and grew, into a harmony, an ecstasy; into the flow, the music, the words bringing together the worlds.

I wish not to wake up, standing outside, looking in; I wish it wouldn’t end; I wish I wouldn’t start the long walk alone; I wish it would last; a grip, the desire, a grim hope. And yet, in his presence, the world was all right; just for a moment, no tempests, no wildness untamed.

Just in this moment, the world was all right.

apparitions & reflections

Apparition (2015)
Apparition (2015)

Beneath all the layers of my mind, there rests the universal question: who am I? I see countless people, every single day. I see them walking, I see them running to cross the road, I see them standing in line, waiting for the show to begin. Among all these people, I stray down a solitary path. I know who I am, and what defines me. I know, from the innermost depths of my being that I exist only to give love. In moments like these, I know my purpose, I know why I exist. Should I allow this vision of myself to be altered? Should I let it rest hidden inside the darkest closet? Or should I set it free?

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. My life flashes before me every single day of every single week. What I did wrong, did my words make a difference, did my words hurt somebody? Someone told me once this could be a burden, this way of being is simply going to hurt too much- it cannot be sustained. I remember a long time ago, I was working with some children without any families. When you look inside the eyes of a lonely child, you see a different sort of wonder. Besides everything they have been through, they show a special resilience. There was a little boy there; he waited every day for me to come so he could play games on my phone- his eyes would go wide at the very thought of it. He worked so hard and then those last, small moments, he would save for this.

What haunts me is that millions of people live their lives without knowing the simplicity of feeling pure emotions. There are many words attached to it; naivete, in some people’s case I’ve heard stupidity. It may be purely Utopian to believe such emotions should be felt and treasured. Nevertheless, it is essential. My greatest nightmare is to walk the streets like everyone else one day, suddenly; to let my hopes die and see them scattered about me, flying away, piece by piece in the winds, until no longer seen.

Sometimes, the stories end, my words are cut short. Sometimes, there is too much to be said. Sometimes, everything is contained within a single jar of glass, keeping everything, showing everything. Some memories; lying free over the grass, watching the sun set; some memories, walking down the tracks, waiting to meet somebody after a long time; some memories, sheltering underneath a ledge to hide from the rain; some memories, grieving, grieving deeply for the time wasted, the time lost, the time spent shouting… some memories; quick and flashy, some long and bitter, some full of passion and struggle. Some memories, waking early to see someone lying next to you…

Life is short, too short for anything but living it with a passion incomparable; head on, jumping in, taking it, grasping what is yours, and then holding it steady, then taming it, breathing it, joining it and then…

Then letting it live inside you.

a letter in absence

Another Heart (2015)
Another Heart (2015)

I walked along the river today. My dearest love, these words are withering under the glittering sun. I miss you so dearly. As I walked along the waterway, I thought I saw your reflection on the waves. They teased me, if I reached out to touch, they fled from me. Then from afar, they beckoned to me, mischievously. My dearest heart, were those your wings I flew on? Did my weight burden you? We flew for too long. We saw the world from the topmost spires. The organ wept in the cathedrals below us; the keys were beaten, the notes, they wept; the notes, they were ferocious in their sadness. My voice, it cracked, and songs, broken and withered, were pulled out of me, out of the deepest depths of my soul. I beat on the music, I urged it; enraged, I beat on the notes; furious why I couldn’t fly; why my wings lay broken; why my heart no longer felt. My love, if this was yesterday, I would have given into you like no other. If this was yesterday, I would have taken you to the heavens; I would have sang to you songs of fire, songs of a wild, wild rush. I would have carried you on my wings, taking you, craving you; right into the skies, to the moon, burning like stars- I would have taken you. If it was yesterday… My love, yesterdays; ghosts, whispers and echoes- yesterdays; lights glowing softly, curled up in bed with a book, with a cup of steaming tea; laying next to you, head resting on your chest, hearing your heart beat- a scent I cannot forget, a touch I cannot stop feeling- laying in an infinite world, clouds soaring in through the open window- yesterdays… My dearest heart, love wanes. Memories come and they go, leaving behind soft footprints you can follow for some time on a slow day. My dearest dear, echoes will not stumble forever, ghosts will not always haunt; faces will eventually disappear; rust and dust and broken trust; they will win. They will win. And where will we be then?


We slept and woke up in the same bed, side by side. It was cold, I woke up cold. This was new for me; my idealistic impressions of the world… fast fading. I was underwater and I was surrounded. How and when does it become so cold? I knew what I asked for. And did it sting, it sting.

Did I crumble beneath his weight? Did he fall into me and let me go? Yes. Like shattered bits of stone, it pierced my soul to the very end, it pierced me. Do you love? Do I love? Did I love? Yes. Yes, yes I did. We loved and we said nothing. Each moment, each moment I look back, I laugh. There is madness on this wind, can you smell it? The stench is so strong, it lingers, haunts, destroys. It destroys.

Small words. My friend, my lover, people like me are crazy; we are entirely mad. Searching for something, searching so hard and I thought you could help me find it. I thought you could, I thought you almost could. After the sun rises and the darkness has passed, we look back. We see the remains, we see the ruins. What has been achieved and what of the destruction? Did you think, did you stop to think? Some people feel. Some people love. Some people walk away, some people run. Bickering inside, boundaries are drawn, swords shall not be sheathed. What did it mean? What does it mean? Is the mystery solved? Let’s go, you and I, let’s float, let’s look away.  I can’t wake up like this, can’t wake up alone, even in the shadows, there is a life, there is something dark and sinister, waiting to take a bite, waiting…

So let’s dance, let’s dance with this wind. Let it take us, let it sway us, let it persuade us, slowly.


Pagan (2015)
Pagan (2015)

My feelings take me to the edge. The dark and stillness whispers, nothing is quiet, but always these talking voices. They go this way and that, twisting and turning, tumbling and weeping. How should I contain the way I feel? Because sometimes the soul is overwhelmed, filled to the brim, it aches, it throbs.

What actions make us human? What actions make us their dark replicas? How should we act? Is every moment etched in time like words soldered in iron or can it be erased? Is every moment like shifting sand? Sometimes I have trouble distinguishing, as if the memories have drowned in to the bottom of a vast ocean, but thrown up by a raging storm, catching the moonlight, and finding a way to enter my mind, rousing my emotions, almost as if the waves were playing…

What is there that scares me, hidden beneath the waves of the storm? What is there that makes me stop, and why can’t I face the smashing walls of an endless sea? It roars, surely it should give me power, surely it should make me rise out of the vast depths, rise into the sky, unafraid, facing my fears. Yet I am but the remains of a long forgotten boat. I feel that I have lost my fight, lost the will to fight the waves, the sea. I have the air of one who floats, just floats… And lets the water take myself, my rusted hinges, my lost oars- lets the water take it all away.

the Old Tree

The morning is always sunny. Sometimes I wake up listening to the sound of birds chirping in my dreams. At these times, I am already half awake. In these times, I have a blurry sense of self. My dreams claw at me. I am not ready to leave my utopia. I’m the only one; I’m surrounded by trees laid bare by a harsh winter but it isn’t cold. A soft mist hugs the grassy banks, there is water nearby. The taste of stillness hangs around me; the damp smell of unmoving water, the soft sound of a dense water body hitting a solid wall; a red, brick wall, which rises high out of the water, unyielding.

In my dreams there are memories, in those memories there are dreams, buried deep. Why is it that I’m sad when I open my eyes? Where was I traveling while I slept? I have a feeling it’s the past, I’m going back in time, days gone by, time long past, a longing turned into an aching reality. It is my Pensieve. I’m just a shadow but I see my life unraveling, I see the dust swirling, changing everything, ageing everything, but I’m standing still. Yet it’s a whirpool around me, memories, voices, scents and smells; I’m 7 years old, I’m running like only children can run- with no care in the world, only the desperation and the breathlessness, the eagerness to get where I want to be. My feet slap the ground, I shouldn’t be running in those shoes; no one can stop me. I’m 10 years old, I’m free; I’m climbing a wall- it’s an adventure. The ground is full of my enemies, a stray snake waiting to bite me- no, it’s a stormy sea full of sharks. I must not fall.

I fall. I’m going to grandmother’s- I want to run in the backyard, I want to hear her tell me those stories… I want to run into her little kitchen, grasp open that fridge, I know she cooked because I was coming. Her roasted chicken was always special. I could eat as much as I wanted- she would only give me more, laugh, fill my plate up. Then I’d bug her- we could go for a walk. We always went for a walk, we always crossed the large, drooping tree next to the juice shop. She would always buy me mango juice in a little, cardboard carton and chat with the owner. I could sit by the tree, maybe even on it, with it’s branches hanging low and just waiting to be climbed.

Why do I remember her tonight, out of all nights? I haven’t forgotten her. I remember her stories, her comfort. Some days I wake up and it’s sunny and the birds are chirping but I’m back in the past, I’m waking up in her home, I’m smelling the food cooking, smelling her soap.

Those mornings, these mornings, I miss her so much.