You lead your life watching
For that day just waiting
Perservere you know you must
Grinding earth and stone to dust
A sad path it is to take
To walk the road in Devil's wake
Wear it down you must do
Bear the miles till all's run through
Witness you do the passing of night
Under the gleam of pale moonlight
Touring the city of the dead
In boots of steel and cloak of lead
Until it comes the day awaited
When soul's unclung and body remitted
With smile or frown you whisk away
Unburdened of judgement delayed
My principles are dying.
The whole world is breaking apart. Rather, my whole world is breaking.
Who's to blame for this?
What's there to blame?
Circumstances? Principles ought to be the guiding light through the maze of life's circumstances. They should never be snuffed out by situations faced along the way. If they do, it's all my fault for letting it happen.
People? Have the people around me contributed to the bending of my principles? All of them saying "it's alright." Their incessant proddings nad suggestions. Their guidance. Well, had I stood by my principles, and never wavered, it would still hold firm. That still makes it my fault.
Perhaps it's fear? Fear of being ostracised or punished. Fear of being judged may have been what shattered the foothold of my principles on my life. If that were the case, then it is the fault of the coward that my principles are gone. My fault.
Temptations break me too easily. I can barely hold on to my principles perhaps. Still my fault.
No matter what the reason, it's all my fault. That much is established.
What are principles?
Conditions. Rules to live by. Principles are my purpose for existing.
My purpose for existing...
And I have let my purpose die. My principles in life are gone thanks to me. My principles are dead. And so am I.
Sunrise on pale blue sea
Dress the clouds in vermillion gleam
Denote the passing of twilight
At the edge of orange seams
The call of waking morning
Utters out a name
Whose smile clear as day
Puts nature's light to shame
In the chill of morning's air
Drifting close to leafy dew
The smell of warmth penetrates
Exotic heat and cold eschewed
The touch of warmth you exhude
Blankets me in radiant cold
Fluctuating between the two
Keeping me constantly on my toes
To the lapping of the waves
Morning seagulls sing
Swaying past incoming breeze
Songs fading in the wind
Your voice I hear in my wake
Sends tingles all through me
Drowning out all else to date
Setting my trembling soul at ease
Day's beginning holds me high
Lighting the way for the rest
Under the shimmering orange
I felt my very best
But oh to hold you near
Hear your heart beat after beat
It's all I'll ever need my dear
To taste the joy heaven's kiss
Between two moments can exist a million thoughts.
What are thoughts? What generates them? Do they have any physical signs of existence?
Electrical pulses within the brain generates information and coagulates them; storing memories and thoughts for later reference. A process ultimately named intelligence. Hardwired neurons transfer thoughts and communicate ideas in the brain. A complex circuitry much like the computer. How much of it is similar?
If the brain were as said to be a mere organic computer, would that not mean that thoughts function as per programs and softwares? Mere computations derived of electrical pulses.
Neurons bursting with energies tell our bodies how to react and what to think. How much control do we really have over what we think or do or even feel?
Millions of cells make up our earthen bodies. Do we really exert any control off these microorganisms or are they the ones really in control of what we do and how we think?
We are like kings ruling over a single country with millions of microorganisms at our bidding. Yet a king isn't always the lord of his followers. There have been tales of kings who were mere puppets set upon the throne as dolls to be controlled by their advisors and such.
Advisors who whispered ideas and suggestions. Ideas and suggestions that at the end of the day become known as the king's own.
Do neurons do that to us? Are our thoughts manifestations of millions of tiny little single-celled organisms?
Each mental picture we generate and every single brain activity recorded is set in motion by electrical pulses. Pulses made by different neurons. Neurons that react to conditions. Neurons that seem to know when to do what they do. Neurons that are perhaps independent of our control.
Picture these neurons as our advisors; flaring up to tell us when we're being hurt or tickled or caressed. Our main source of information and knowledge. What can we do without our neurons?
Can we possibly have any thoughts without them flaring up?
Are any of our thoughts really our own? Satan threatened to lure man away from the straight path through whispers of temptations from every side. Could he have meant the neurons and nervous systems of our body? Did he mean our thoughts?
Between two moments can exist millions of thoughts. How many of those are truly the thoughts of you as a sole spiritual being? How many of them are electrical pulses generated without your conscious consent by those neurons beyond your control?
Thoughts anyone?
I could whisper to you my love
Words flowery and sweet
I could tell you tales
Of how you make my heart skip a beat
I would shower you with kisses
Drop down on my knees for you my dearest
If that were all it takes to prove your worth
Then a million more I would do my love
Shower you with passion and longing
Embrace you with care deserving of a queen
Give to you all that I can
You will be my everything
But of course you already are
My sun and star
My food and air
You my love are my life
These words I utter come from the heart
Not a single syllable's a lie
Believe you me when I say
These feelings grow stronger with each passing day
Each thump of my aching heart
With breath accompanying
Screams out with passion
Calling out your name
Thoughts of you flood my mind
Close to the point of bursting
You whom I cannot leave behind
You who I am still here loving
Years may go on by
Still my heart will stay true
Be my emotions accepted or returned
My love will always be for you
Even if I should see you go
Watch my heart shatter without your glow
And drown as I may without your presence
You will always be to me my love
My one and only
My queen of hearts
And above all
My everything
It kills me to know
How time constantly flows
To leave memories behind
That lingers in my mind
To never see through
Past my visions blue
Tracing my facial lines
Worries recorded on skin fine
Passing timeless clues
Of the days' shortening queues
Counting out empty sublimes
Hopelessly trudging times
It seems to kill you
To be with me too
Sharing life's designs
Built off dirt and grime
Thus I let you go
From this noose I hold
Free yourself and shine
Dear beloved of mine
For it kills me to know
It's you I can't let go
Yet it's you I can't make stay
As you'd die from it that way
Let it just be me
All but lonely
Listening to whispers
Of sanity's deserters
Better be that way
To be led astray
Than to live a lie
Just watching days go by
Leave me dear beloved
One whom I most covet
To whom my heart's true
My one and only you
There is no god, only Allah. As a muslim, man should worship non other but Allah. Worship no god, only Allah.
Who is Allah? What does He look like? What is He like?
Questions no muslim can answer. Things a muslim shouldn't bother pondering. Why not?
Simply because Allah is Allah. He is unlike any of the gods that men worship. He is different.
Allah is unlike any of His creations. He is perfect. He is beyond our imaginings and surpasses our meager knowledge. How can we expect to know Him?
We know of Allah what little He allows us to know. We know of Allah by the ninety-nine names He revealed to us as well as the twenty traits of Him that He allowed us to know. We know that Allah is omnipotent, was never begotten and does not beget children.
Allah is all powerful. Allah is mysterious. Allah is all knowing. Allah is all things great. Allah is like nothing we've seen or known. How can we hope to imagine even a glimpse of Allah when he is thus so otherworldly and great?
So who is Allah?
He is the God of muslims.
No. The God of man.
No. Stilll wrong.
Allah, is Allah. No other name for Him.
Allahu Akbar.
Me is a very fluid term
A mask glued on
Faceted like a jewel
Me begins with what you see
Read upon a book
Page by page unfurled
Me is the I pointed out
Sensed part thereof
In a social cloud
The me you know of
Lurks on the surface
Overshadowing truth
Trust me when I say
You don't know me
The scratch of the quill
Upon parchment brown
Denoted beginning
Of thoughts profound
Recorded were leys
Of heroic tales
Of deeds enacted
In stark detail
Of import to man
Were the acts of this one
That left this world
Untouched next to none
Whose stories thus reach
Ears near and far
The bard whose tales
Kept one glued as tar
Come one come all
Listen my song and dance
Come to my thrall
Enter ye to a mindless trance
So did he write
A will to legends make
Singing tales of others
Spinning history in his take
Flowery tongue so fine
Language spun divine
You will fall prey
Dreaming dreams sanguine
Of tales retold
In his bardic fare
In toys of song
And parchment penned
Will ye now read
Or will ye ignore
Will history repeat
Or is it forgot?
Clack! Clack! Clack!
He sat and watched the stone clattering on the gravel road. He picked up another piece of stone and tossed it out onto the uneven ground; watched as it clattered and bounced once or twice before finally rolling into a tiny pothole.
Silence. It wasn't the kind of silence that hung heavy in the air and threatened to suffocate you. No. Rather, it felt kind of peaceful. It was a kind of silence lined with the subtle flowery language of birds and bees. A beautiful kind of quiet.
Toss. Clack! Clack!
Missed the pothole. The stone settled under the brush on the other side of the road. Silence. He didn't feel comfortable in the silence. Not this kind of silence. It was too bright. Far too cheerful. Too empty.
He plucked up a piece of stone and fiddled around with it. His eyes noted each grain and layer; eacn crack and chip; each shade of gray. Gray. Such a beautiful color. Toss.
His eyes trailed the path of the stones. Erratic movements that were unpredictable at best. Unpredictable. Life. He smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. No. It was the kind of smile wreathed in a translucent veil of sadness. The type you see upon the faces of men who'd accepted their misfotunes. Men who couldn't do a thing to change their lives for the better. A smile accompanied by eyes that betrayed sadness beyond compare.
Chirp! A bird flew overhead.
He picked up another piece of stone and watched the bird perched upon a tree brance. How he envied the bird.
Toss. Clack!
The stone had flown straight into a pothole. You'd think such a thing was unlikely to happen more than twice. It was such a tiny hole; just a couple centimeters wide. Yet that was the fifth time it happened to him.
Another smile.
With a nonchalant shrug, he picked up another piece of stone and continued. Such a lucky creature; that bird. Freedom; innocense; simplicity; best of all, a short well lived life. How he envied it.
So unfair. Toss. Clack! Clack! Clack!
He was running out of stones. He shook his head and sighed. Lying down on the roadside looking up at the sky.
"What am I doing?"
Invisible?
Hardly
Such inconceivable thought
Lovely?
Yes
Beyond a doubt
Everything
A man
Could only dream
Think you not
Any less
Dear lady so Godly blessed
Sadness
Your trail
Swimming in the rain
Spilling
A tale
Untold in the dark
Mystifying as the moon
You play out your tune
Magical
Think you not ever
Not even once
That you're not special
In the eyes of mine
Not even poetry sublime
Could describe you
Simply special
That's the best
I could do
One for someone who's feeling a little down, to say that she's better than she thinks she is. Hope she's fine and that she remembers her true worth. That she knows that even diamonds could not be prized as she is. And that there are people who see her for the true beauty that she really is.
Hope you smile always, dear lady. :)
Such a common question: Why?
It sparks the beginning to the search for reason. Each time it demands an explanation, it opens up its subject and lays it bare to scrutiny.
Why are leaves green? Why are skies blue? Why do birds chirp? Why do men burp? Wh7y is the world round?
What happens though, when why does not lead to an answer?
Why do we live? Why do we feel? Why does fire burn? Why why?
Times exist when reasoning leads to a logical dead end. The boundaries of common sense exist and there may be moments when we find ourselves crossing it. At such times, the question why becomes impossible to answer.
Why is such a question that needs common sense. It cannot and will not do with anything that defies it. Thus we outline our sanity by constantly asking why. To remind ourselves of our state of mind.
So why keep asking why? Because without it, we'll run around as meager mindless mechanations without reason. Without why, we'll be crazy.
Oh diamond fair
Beyond my grasp
Captured the sun
My shining star elapse
Disappear you have
Hidden in the clouds
Lovely dear diamond
My heart you have wrought
Chase you I did
Digging upon a dream
Lost was I
Blinded by a gleam
Freedom of choice: God's greatest gift to mankind; the one attribute that sets him apart from all of God's other creations.
How does man recognise this freedom or know that it is really there? With the existence of things such as fate and destiny, how do we know that the choices we make are truly free?
Can we change destiny? Do we shape the future, or does it shape us? What's so good about freedom?
God alone knows.
If you're destined to die tomorrow, you will die tomorrow. No matter what you do, there is no changing that fact, correct?
So why try to do anything? Are we destined to commit ourselves to striving for freedom or can we choose to give that away?
What is this thing we call freedom of choice anyway? How does it set us apart from angels or satan?
What say have we over our lives? How much of what we do is executed out of our own true free will?
Temptations, dreams and wishes have always made themselves our general fuel to move. People all have their inner drives.
Does having desires eliminate freedom of choice?
Desires push you constantly in a single direction. Driving you to a single end much like how a road leads a car to a single direction.
So your choice is to either follow the road or break away from it.
Can you make that choice? Or perhaps you'll find yourself with absolutely no say in this at all.
Delving deep down within yourself, will you find that freedom? How does it feel to be truly free?
Perhaps true form of freedom exists in the form of indecision.
Indecision marks a lack of drive or biasness. The indecisive can make a choice either ways. More so than those who are driven. Then again, the indecisive are rarely able to make a quick choice. Always limited by their lack of will. Always stuck.
Is that freedom?
One way or another, we are boxed in. There always seems to be one factor or another that seems to influence our everyday decision.
Influence. That is the keyword, isn't it? Influences may exist but the choice is still yours to make.
You may stray off the beaten road but that would mean you have to walk through the underbrush. Ordeals may snag onto you and pull you down. It's up to you to choose to battle on or give in. You may have your freedom of choice, but that freedom is one with a limit. Stray too far and you'll find yourself in the lion's den.
Choice brings consequence. Freedom simply means you get to choose that consequence.
There is more to a story than fame and glory
There's more to words than nouns and verbs
A sweep of the hand upon the sand
Is worth more to me than any plot of land
For deep within that single motion
Could be held a flood of love and devotion
In time unending and troubled years
We find growing the loveliest of roses
What you say means nothing to me
What you do is what rings true
Yet even then feelings will not change
What's past is past, will not be rearranged
My flood for you has run dry
Yearn still I will till the day we die
In time unending and troubled years
I saw leaving me the most loveliest of roses
The ties that bind us together are but invisible threads of nothingness. Bonds of emptiness called attraction. Unseen forces called magnetism; Gravity.
As much mass there is within us, an equal amount of emptiness exist. An emptiness that remains unsensed by human comprehension. A blob of uncharted void blotted out by the mask of mass. A hole that exists in the form of energy.
The twilight form of our existence cannot be denied. Our dual forms a mystical state of being that goes unnoticed and unpainted; An oxymoron. One few of us acknowledge clearly.
What of this emptiness? Is it really all that important?
The realisation of this spacious void within us is hardly ever a big deal. But to know everything about the self, is to learn of the emptiness within us. Where mystical power of unseen manipulative forces course through our formless selves. The vacuum.
Mankind holds two things in his hands
The future in one and the past in the other
Yet the present is never in his grasp
Always flowing away
The present is like the wind
Flowing upon his hands yet never in his grasp
The past sticks on and clings
Never to be left ever again
The future that comes is always gray
Awaiting his hands to mold its clay
And yet as maleable as it can be
It is as yet the most elusive of the tree
It is wrapped within the present
Never to unfold till the past is written
As strange as it may be
It too is the most fleeting in form and breed
Be it good and bright?
Or mayhap dark as night
None could grab a glimpse of it
Yet in his hands is where it's writ
Upon a stage
I saw you
Dancing a storm
I was glued
Your lovely gait
So soft so supple
The longer I looked
More my heart crumbled
None could be so fair
But an elven dame
The princess that captured my heart
Without even laying claim
Stumble in you did
For but a single while
Yet you watered my heart
Filled it like the river Nile
Only for a moment
Hardly enough
More I wanted
But deserve it I did not
Outstaged I was
Greatly outdone
You shone out bright
And became my sun
Here I stand miles away
Nought I could do
Only words left to say
For you only praise
Praise for your smile
The shine in your eyes
The gaze of wonder
Of unquotable price
Would that I could see
Come close and witness
Abeauty so fair
That left me speechless
Yet here I stand
Miles and miles away
Nought left to do
Only words left to say
Oh to touch
To hold close and call mine
One soft and kind
One so divine
You became a dream
Imperfections unseen
You became my dream
My heart's favourite queen
Dance, do not stop
Sway like the clock
Ticking my heartbeats
Become part of me
That you did
A long time ago
Once upon a day
When you made me love you so
When...
Upon a stage
I saw you
Dancing a storm
And I could not let go
The giant undead footsteps sent shivers through the ground into the trees. The elf druid stood at the edge of the woods, fists clenched and brows furrowed. Lines of worry creased his ageless face.
He knelt down and drew a symbol of Ehlonna upon the earth. "By the name of the Lady, for the good of the land, I call thee forth Lords of the earth. Come from the grounds to fend off our foes."
With a slap of his hand on the symbol, the ground began to rumble. Cracks streaked and lined the earth along the edge of the woods.
Huge hulking earth elementals sprouted out of the ground. Their grim stony visages remained still as the ground from which they sprung out. Each guardian stood over nine feet tall, hunched over, long lumbering arms ending in large diamond studded fists.
"What have you called us for Servant of the Lady?" Came a low rumbling voice much like the sound of gravel grinding against stone.
"A giant abomination of unlife threatens the Woods of Vilsrough. Aid me oh great Lord of Stone. In the name of the Lady I have called upon you."
Another rumble shook the ground. "Yes. I can feel the creature's presence. Its every footstep burns my belly. I shall aid you in this little endeavour of yours elf. But I will expect something in return for this favour."
The druid nodded in understanding. "As always."
A little rustle in the bushes behind pulled his attention away from the earth. It was his canine companion. The wolf padded over silently to his side, a soft low growl escaping its throat.
"A great evil approaches dear friend. And I fear the worst." Said the druid. He got up and took out the holy symbol from his pocket. More preparations needed to be done.
Two great leaps upwards and a gentle swing brought him a good fifteen feet above the ground. Crouched upon a sturdy branch, he began to chant.
His melodious voice chimed upon the wind, calling. A slow, steady breeze blew through the trees and carried with them the sounds of creaking branches and groaning trees. The breeze grew in strength, following the lead of the druid's voice as it rose to a crescendo. As he ended, the winds died down.
Satisfied, he swung down the perch. "Now, we wait."
#3<<
>>#5
The seeker of knowledge is a very strange man
He lives not to live
Yet dies not to die
Intense his life is
But fight not he will
His sight travels far
Beyond the reach of the stars
What he seeks in his moments
Lies not where he looks
Rather where he looks not
The seeker thus he is
Through fault of none but himself
Knowledge that which he craves is never nigh at hand
Knowledge that which he chase is always what he does not understand
How can this be?
Does he not know enough?
Seeker though he may be
Is he not shown more than enough?
A strange obsession the seeker shows
Chasing and stumbling always upon the unknown
A step at a time
A walk slower than a crawl
Seeking to understand everything
Starting with nothing at all
Tripping himself down on emotional turbulence
The seeker of knowledge lives in reverance
Over what you may ask
The answer is always there
You only need seek it
And become a seeker yourself
Strange cycle indeed
Have you any idea of what makes blue blue?
How do you know that the blue you see is true?
What if that color you thought was blue was red in truth?
Or that the blue you see could be of a different hue?
Can you trust the lenses you now see through?
They may be playing tricks on you.
How could you possibly tell what's blue and what's not blue?
What will you do?
Cause your eyes don't work the way they're supposed to.
And your ears and nose won't give you a clue.
What is blue?
Oh butterfly
How you dance,carefree
In this lushness
Of greenery
Petal to petal
Friends to and fro
I see them you grapple
Only to let go
They open up
Flytraps of color
You know well enough
Yet still you tamper
Oh butterfly
Sweetness my dear
You've flown so far
And still you won't come near
Here I wait
My palm open wide
Yet you're still afraid
So you weave me your lies
Why oh why
Do you yet desist
I begged and cry
Yet you still persist
Float away high
Out of my reach
To swallows up nigh
Dancing to finch
While here I lay
My strength slowly fade
To watch you play
Along hellish gate
Dear butterfly
Why fear me so
Truth won't deny
I'm the one who loves you so...
In reality we're living as mere reflections.
Ever wondered why we're never satisfied with our lives? Or how empty it feels to be alive. Are we truly existing or are we hitching a ride on the lives of another?
Look in the mirrow. What do you see? Is that the true face of you? What is the true color of your essence?
We live our lives staring into the abyss of our meaningless actions through our everyday lives. What are we doing? Do we have any control over the things we do?
Actions that defy moral conscience; Sinful lives lived by every man that goes against the deeply ingrained wish to do good. Do we really want to do evil? Or is it really the wishes of another?
The many different things we do day in day out, none of them is ever done with good reason. All of it merely spurs of the passing moments.
In reality, we're all living as mere reflections.
Obsession. It is a disease. One that the human mind falls into when it experiences an indescribable joy. To experience a constant longing for satisfaction that can never be sated. All you'd ask is for it to last.
Obsession. It is a disease. One that the human mind falls into when it experiences an indescribable pain. To feel an overwhelming sensation that burns deep into your soul. And all you can do is hunger for an end to it.
Obsession is an affliction for those who seek purpose. It becomes a purpose. It is an endless drive.
Obsession:
Function: noun
1: A persistent disturbing preoccupation with an unreasonable idea or feeling
2: Something that causes an obsession
Obsession.
The self. It is incongruent. Always fickle as the ocean currents.
The flow of the sea against the land that never seems to end. How it moulds the earth that it can move and passes by hardy obstacles of stone that refuse to break. So too the strength of flexibility exists in the self. It changes and manipulates the world around it as best it can. But when a monumental task beyond its ability comes to bear, it will be forced to change its direction and style of play. The self will change.
It's dainty gait through great distances in seemingly untiring consistency has lasted through generations. The ocean waters never seem to rest. The tides wait for none. And just like the eternally rolling seas, the self is constantly changing and moving, unrelenting till the end.
The surface of a person's easily seen and understood; As easily explored as the face of the sea. But behind the mask is close to always a depth as unending as the ocean's secrets.
The heart of the self is as difficult to find as the ocean's true nature. Just as mysterious.
Quiet breeze of summer weeks
Kisses and licks
Floating on skin silky smooth
Lingering youth
Sunlight raining icy warmth
Oxymorons
Heart of pains and fears aflame
The day you came
Airy nothings buried deep
Suffering sleep
Drowning in dreams of cold air
Love gone awry
Trudging earth flows down mountains
Ringing brown grains
Continues endless stories
Fleeting motions
Sheets of fiery snow flakes
Burning the skin
Burial of the living
Condescending
Listening that which glistens
Frothy oceans
Whispering silent futures
Of fading cures
Cycles going round and round
Seasons by gone
That repeats itself once more
Shadows going
In the very end comes rain
Hints left of pain
Due stress of living through time
Alone dying
Claiming knowledge is perhaps one of man's greatest folies. One that is close to impossible for him to escape from. What is intelligence without knowledge? As the most intelligent creations of God, man has to be most knowledgable right?
Most knowledgable perhaps;But still our knowledge is but fragments of the greater truth. Fragments that can change and grow obsolete over time. What's learnt needs to be unlearnt and relearned depending on the times and situations. Still the incomplete status of our comprehension is an undeniable cold hard truth.
This is the reason why alchemists and philosophers alike toil day and night in search of knowledge. Because knowing is a bottomless well that begs to be dug deeper still. For what purpose?
Man's huge appetite for a purpose and wisdom is never appeased. There is always a gap in his understanding no matter how vast his bank of knowledge really is. And only the fool would ignore that fact.
The flaws that permeates man's understanding of the universe are invisible. What he knows is but a reflection of reality. A reflection warped by his own limited understanding; His limited degree of observation.
More appealing than knowledge itself is the feeling of knowledge - Anonymous
How can we claim to know much when what we've learnt is close to nothing?
It's real love that you don't know about
That leaves me clinging to self-doubt
Letting my thoughts ring me to tears
Dying in the flames of my own fears
Buried in the embers of passion
as I am lost in your desertion
Clawing the remains of my world
Suffocating as sanity crumble
It's my heart that you don't see
Crying out I'm down on my knee
Stake smoothly driven through
The day I saw me lose you
There everything goes spiraling down
My world's spinning after you played me like a clown
Once more I've been made the fool
Left under the moonlight wind so cool
It's the pain I never let you see
As I felt you take my heart and leave
Peeling away the life you gave
Leaving me a starving slave
It's real love that you don't know about
It's my love that's calling with every shout
For you my soul waits to return
For you now I slowly burn
:::amid the shadows of trancendence:::
thoughts, principles and philosophy is the main point of discussion. Subjects ranging from love to music and life can be discussed here. Anyone is welcome to post their thoughts on my articles in the tagboard. And feel free to tell me if you think I'm wrong. I'm open to criticism.
