Let the words bleed out from this soul again
The whisper of a gentle breeze from a fan in a hot summer day is heard from a corner of this room. I am untangling the thoughts that bind me restless. Question of why is piling over the questions of how.
This existence is like a dying incandescent bulb in the middle of a stark black night. A drop of hope is spilt on all things rhetoric. The cycle of life becomes life itself and the man who was once a boy is caving in for all the things he would like to undo. Perhaps the boy knew more than the man.
As I wish my soul goodnight I asked of how this soul should be in the morning. But the question of why be there when the sun greet this concrete world is keeping me from sleeping.
The innocence of youth, the idealism that once have given one a reason to move forward is now left far from the path towards conformity. Somehow getting somewhere is not so far from going nowhere. Is this really the dream I had?
Tears that warm my cheek and the short breaths diminish this man yet a boy is wishing to play with sand and water to build his castle on the beach again. The man told the boy that the castle will be washed away by waves and the boy replied, “It will forever be in my heart”. “Why are you crying?” asked the boy. “Coz you are a dead” said the man “and that castle is now a made of concrete in the midst of a city”.
He wept and the boy smiled. Coz he remembered him one more time.