Walking along those labyrinthine alleys my friend, we never had a true communication. And how could we, when that was supposed to be a black day? And you had to be back; you had so much still to do…
I couldn’t say much when you had buried your head between your knees in that reverent silence which tried so desperately to make you believe in the jabbering of that swollen shithole. You were trying to tame that vicissitude that needed no moon to rise, and I watched you wrestle with yourself and that tide.
And then there were your eyes that looked at me in awe.
I tried to read you through them; I tried to read me through you.
That gloomy residue of vengefulness saddened me. What vengeance, against whom and how? When caught in the crossfire of gods, the incidentals and coincidentals have no option but to bleed to death, or heal being indebted to the very sword that slashed them in two, or lit up a secret flame of vengeance in their hearts and wait for it to fade away. I wanted to see that little flame extinguish right then, in front of me, before in its dismay of unrequited revenge it blackens you heart. Ever noticed the relation of captive and his captor? The captive, no matter how vain he is, still owes his breaths to his captor.
And then I see in those eyes a fear of your capacity of endurance.
You’ll endure it.
I’ve seen men enduring it soaked in tears and enveloped in screams. I have endured it cocooned in silence. And that’s all I Know, One way or the other, everyone endures, and patience is just bullshit word that is coined because people needed something to say at funerals. It’s not an embrace of the fate dear, it’s supposed to be welcoming your sorrows with jubilation, and with that madness you can’t be a son, and you can’t be a man.
We’ll meet again six months and we would laugh our hearts out. By then endurance will become a habit to you, and patience will never arrive.Till then I need to say goodbye…
I hope you understand why I dread at even the possibility of looking at shadows from the past.
I couldn’t say much when you had buried your head between your knees in that reverent silence which tried so desperately to make you believe in the jabbering of that swollen shithole. You were trying to tame that vicissitude that needed no moon to rise, and I watched you wrestle with yourself and that tide.
And then there were your eyes that looked at me in awe.
I tried to read you through them; I tried to read me through you.
That gloomy residue of vengefulness saddened me. What vengeance, against whom and how? When caught in the crossfire of gods, the incidentals and coincidentals have no option but to bleed to death, or heal being indebted to the very sword that slashed them in two, or lit up a secret flame of vengeance in their hearts and wait for it to fade away. I wanted to see that little flame extinguish right then, in front of me, before in its dismay of unrequited revenge it blackens you heart. Ever noticed the relation of captive and his captor? The captive, no matter how vain he is, still owes his breaths to his captor.
And then I see in those eyes a fear of your capacity of endurance.
You’ll endure it.
I’ve seen men enduring it soaked in tears and enveloped in screams. I have endured it cocooned in silence. And that’s all I Know, One way or the other, everyone endures, and patience is just bullshit word that is coined because people needed something to say at funerals. It’s not an embrace of the fate dear, it’s supposed to be welcoming your sorrows with jubilation, and with that madness you can’t be a son, and you can’t be a man.
We’ll meet again six months and we would laugh our hearts out. By then endurance will become a habit to you, and patience will never arrive.Till then I need to say goodbye…
I hope you understand why I dread at even the possibility of looking at shadows from the past.
