09-03-11

 09-03-11

I opened the window abruptly to let the fresh breeze be my guest; tonight London wears the moonlight garment of a diva, sprinkling the night with shimmering stars above my rooftop. I like letting the air travel around my room, it makes the stuffiness of the chamber vanish completely liberating my obstructed nostrils.
A piece of paper timidly moves up and down to the rhythm of the air as fluctuating movements similar to wings of a butterfly, Mozart and Salieri the great tragedy of a misunderstood genius, uncoils the mystery of human existence and behavior.
I let myself sink into the motion of melodic writing, I like to write, especially at night when I hear the roaring cars rushing by as the city helicopters fly above my head. 

I don't know where I stand today, but i feel like a mountain strong, determined to fulfill my goals. Or am I? The world to me is an enchanted garden, a young boy unwrapping a birthday present.

Mad man rush beneath my feet, the rumbaing sound of the tube is echoes from the fragile walls of this semi-detached house.
Sometimes I ponder upon the mysteries of my own walls, wondering how many people have lived here before my body felt safe inside thee. How many stories and romances have shared the same bed I know sleep in, how many arguments and discussions are secretly imprisoned inside these walls. 

I smoke the dissatisfaction of the world by sucking resentfully the filter of my cigarette, I can taste and feel the nicotine inside my lungs, letting the smoke smoothly sliding its course into the darkness of my throat, penetrating the alveoli of my lungs, spreading out across my arteries and veins, I can hear the speeding of my heart beating recklessly. I wait for it to seize, so timidly I breath deeply and take another puff.
Addiction, what a beautiful word but pitiless meaning, we cling to something we are aware is so harmful, and yet it gives us the shiver, we are incomplete characters attached to insignificant routines that leads us inconsequentially to feel 'needy' of these bad habits.

My fingers are frigid now, numb by the cold, but i can still feel them. A grin on my face resembles the satisfaction in discovering poetry by observing the beauty sheltered beneath the simplicity of minute actions. Why do I find everything so poetic and endless, I am a visionary prophet doomed to be inconceivably misunderstood, and maybe, certainly I'm not everyone's cup of tea. How clichéd of me. But its ok, we all live hiding ourselves behind platitude phrases, I wish 'people would speak more in metaphors’ a friend of mine once said, conversations would then transmute into incredible tails, these would then descent from intangible thoughts into concrete ink, permitting our imagination to spring, admiring the oscillating rapture from one tong to another like remedies for the sleepless souls.

 

Reviews

[Hannah]

I really love your prose and tone; your way of writing captivates me... This piece could have been so simplistic, and I suppose mundane, but you found a way to give it such depth and you brought curiosity to the part's of life that don't normally receive much attention... I like how you think... Thank you for a very worthwhile read :)

[Luna]

Hannah, you made my ears smile like never before and my eye be engulfed by such delightful comment! I can't stress enough how grateful and thankful this writing of mine has made you enjoy it so much. Please stay tuned because I have a lot more to share. Hope you have a lovely day. :)

[Hannah]

You're very welcome :) hope you have a lovely day too!