It was not an hour of pain, They were just lining up, And the questions remained the same. To who we shift the guilt, Which people were to blame? I just stood by the side, Never knowing same, What kind of life gives you a chance to dismay? Seek the prophet, but never listen what to say, I came around to some conclusions, But they weren’t bright and tame, Who am I to say, Which person has what part to play…
Look around and you’ll see, We are all in the same game, Some of us are winners, But all losers to fame, What point is this life, If it is not to pass away? The only thing we do right, And yet we fear the same.
Come around and think, Change will not run our way, Years have past by, And we haven’t learnt to pray, Many tears run and sorrow clips us stray, Lie, cheat and hurt, For amusement of others pain, Are we human or are we just a prey? With all of our mistakes, Are we here to stay?
By the time I was breathing, I only saw my mistakes.
Now on the path of redemption, I am followed by them. They live and breath with me, Never knowing how to rest.
If you know your future, Then let me know how it ends. As I walk to my rescue, I am blinded by the fears, Even though I had none, Those were lies by the rest.
I know I will get there, But I fear what will be left. As with each step I can feel it, Parts of me are getting lost. By the time I find it in me, Will the peace be enough? Or will hunger consume me? As I lay my head to rest.
All this pain that’s in me, Will I just stay the same? What is my great devotion? If not for a better self? I will let you by tomorrow, Am I breathing, am I sane…
What is it with the world and it’s undying compulsion to tell us what we are going to be? What are they to gain, those who shatter other peoples hope, dreams and aspirations? You are never going to amount for something, you are never going to be anything… Your amount won’t ever be worth something… My personal favourite. There is this person I know, who said, people enjoy other peoples suffering, as it is success that bothers them. So they scheme, gossip and turn on one another just so they can enjoy in other misery. And that is true. But why is it that no matter how hard we try not to give a fuck we always let others get to our hearts? Perhaps it is the universal flaw of humanity, that no matter what we want to be appreciated, respected, that no matter what we care…
Art of absence
I have been away for a while and for that I apologise, to whole six of you who actually enjoy reading my random and weird thoughts. It has been tough lately. You know how I said the few previous times it is hard for me to connect to others, especially on social media, the writers “must have” tool? Now with all going on, not even finding the time to open twitter, I find myself stunned, looking at the empty status, trying to figure out what funny words I can spew out. What am I suppose to say? What do people like me who do not have in a hindsight an interesting life, or a life at all, what do we say? But I digress. And I am well aware that there are more then six of you, thank you for that. It is a one year anniversary of the site. Yeay! Happy birthday Word Den. True, I haven’t committed fully to the site last year, but few months ago all changed. I am trying, learning and failing, but that’s what life is about. It’s a process. Hard. Unforgiving. Process. But hey, at least we can make the most of it since we are in for a ride, unvoluntarily I may add. I know this week is short considering the content promised, but I did had a good reason. First like I said last time now I am working every day for 10 hours (minimum) so it is hard for now to keep my mind focused. But even with a tight schedule I managed to pull the now weekly POW (oh yea!) and at least two poems. But I deserve a break, right? The other reason some of you might had guessed is the resurgence of my depression, but not to worry… I am curing it right now! As this week’s POW is posted I am right now with my mates, meat on the bbq and a free tap of beer running. It helps. And I have a confession to make. Where usually I would be my normal depressing self, it got me thinking about hope and goodness of life.
Life is a bitch?
Life has a tendency to sort itself out. Things do fall into places where they are supposed to be. Just takes time. The key is to survive until they do. Hard, I know. But then again, while I am reminiscing about some better times, when my mates were still here in one place, not scattered around the world where we are now forced to a yearly meet up, I kept on thinking how the stress and nervousness is unnecessary. Sure, it is in human nature to worry. But to what extent? If I worry about being hit by a car so much so, will I even cross the street? Sometimes all it takes is a leap of faith, a moment of self belief, that maybe, just maybe, things will work out for the better. We stress how we will come on to new people, what if we stay alone or what if our hard work was all for nothing? But thinking about the 14th step, we will be too afraid to even make the first one. Spinning the movie in our head to what might happen, we tend to forget what can happen. Makes sense? I hope so, bear in mind I am quite drunk. Like I said yearly meet up so we do have try out bbq night before the main event. My point is, for the entirety of my life I have tried, sometimes hard and often times giving up before even really giving a shot, applying for jobs that were way above me to jobs a monkey could do. That made the heartache bigger when I didn’t get any. My friends moved on, met new people and fell in love, while I stayed behind lingering in my darkness, drifting further away by doing stupid shit. But for the last year or so, I stopped thinking about the 14th step and kept on my focus on the first. And things are moving. Looking better? I dare to say so. Next year I will be a published author. (Stay tuned!) An achievement I am immensely grateful for, one I don’t take for granted, but one I will try to build on. For the first time in my life I feel like I know what I want. For the first time I feel like I am not pushed by anything or anyone to be something I am not. For the first time now, I am making my own damn path, my road of redemption, to be something I always was, but never admitted to myself I can become. A storyteller…
For better or for worse
Eh, it is a long road. Somehow I dropped out of college because I thought I couldn’t learn or was too stupid to make it. But now I am in a profession that teaches you something every day, where to make it you must want it and commit. Knowing something you want to do, something you want to be is only part of the journey. But damn it, it is a big part to play. Hey, who would had thought one POW where things ain’t so dark after all, you can practically smell the hope oozing out of the site now! But all jokes aside, we are the ones who make our journey, the ones who walk it and the ones who reap the benefits and the wrongs of it, along with blood, sweat and sacrifice that we spend on it. So don’t let anyone tell you how to live your life. They might assume, they always will because we are creatures of chaos and jealousy, we humans, but they will never know the struggles you face. It is your life, your responsibility and your future. Your hope.
Raising a pint to all your good health and may your dreams come true fellow warriors,
It is not the soul of the believer That shines so brightly But the heart of a cynic Plunged in the world of chaos and disorder It is dark and withering, Striped of all light, Forced to look at the world With eyes of real. But in that dark, a shimmer of light remains. Unlike the one that believes, The cynic relies on the hope given, Not on the hope wanted.
In the darkness of the world The innocence of a man is not lost, But turned and twisted, To horror and despair presented. But he who sees the planes of earth For what they are, Knows, The future is what you make it to be.
I honestly don’t know how some of you manage to balance things! With day jobs, personal life and what not, I get it there is still time to write and do your thing, but is there a scenario where I don’t lose my sanity? Is it just just me or do you as well when you got at a certain point in writing, start to hate your day job (or hating more in my case) where you just want to get through the day and hurry home to write? They say the best ideas come when you are sitting on a toilet seat (or so I heard) but in my case they come when I am at work, I hurry up to hide from my boss so I can quickly open the notepad app and write a thing before my mind goes completely blank.
How life twists
It is strange to look back to where we were few years back and compare it to now. Sure we all made our fare share of mistakes, nudged a few inches of our path going astray, but man, for better or for worse, did any one of us think we would end up doing or pursuing things we are right now? Even in my busy schedule I managed to take some old trash from my room and while getting some boxes away I found a piece of paper. Must have been tucked away for years, probably written while I was still in high-school and on it, a blurb. Years ago, I remember writing stories on paper, old school by hand and this was one of those fragments of my past. The blurb of course was incomplete and messy, but the story itself not half bad. I must admit, lately I have fallen on some hard times, doubting myself if I can even do this, balancing work which now I have 10 hours of daily without a day off and just in general fighting depression. But seeing what young Harry wrote gave me hope. I sat on the floor, griping that old piece of paper and just laughing, almost even bursting into tears. It gave me joy, understanding, that even before I had dreams, aspirations. That was my ammo to fight back the depression that keeps on asking, questioning my ability of doing this, with the words “Are you even good?” constantly ringing in my ears. What I learned so far is that life has a sense of humor, a sense of irony particularly. I am constantly pressed down by my mistakes and everyone with mental illness will know it’s a battle each day. Even when you win (and you don’t always win) the pain is still there, the burden never goes away. I don’t like to speak about it, yet I made a promise to myself that I will get more personal. This became a therapy of sorts for me. Is it working? Perhaps, but like I said each day is a battle.
Am I alone out there?
Don’t worry won’t speak again about how when we fight our own demons we often tend to think we are alone in this fight, which it doesn’t have to be the case. No… As I was watching that piece of paper I remember fondly about the stories I created in my mind, my vast imagination running free and unshackled. By that time I thought how hard would be to write a book and I did try but never had the proper motivation. I remember when I was 11 I was at my old potato of a PC trying to write each day. Damn, if anyone told me back then how competitive this all is and how writing a book and pouring your soul into it is not even 50% of the whole process, who knows if I would write the first one. I remember how alone I was back then and how alone do I feel now. Perhaps that’s why it gets to me, when I post something here or on twitter and I get no response, perhaps that’s what makes the question of am I really even good louder… But perhaps it’s not just me. Perhaps there are more of you, who fight with the same questions I do as well. Well, I admire you, knowing what toll it takes on a human body, soul and mind, as the heart begins to break, bit by bit. But presented with a choice of that question, what are we to do? To just give up after our heart literary went in our work? No, of course not. We do the only thing we can, the only thing we know how to do. We bite our teeth, pushing forward. Because we know what’s behind, waiting for us. And everything, even the risk of a heartache, is better than that.
The attitude of a loser
To my firends I seem overconfident because I say I will make it, I will be big. The truth is, it’s not my ego speaking but my pain. For years I tried to be more than no one, applying for countless jobs I can find and failing just because I wanted a career, a meaning. Like all of us I strive for meaning. I was told I won’t be anyone, I will die alone somewhere in a ditch. That’s the reason of my confidence. Its not a fake one, no. After I applied for jobs as all of my firends finished uni or had great careers even if I got to the next round of interviews and was close to getting it, it was the pain of telling them over and over again “Oh I didn’t get it…” that killed me. One by one I saw it in their eyes the same words many people spoke to me over the years. You won’t be anyone. You won’t matter. Perhaps it is the fear of those words, that I never won’t forget, that planted the seed for my depression. But perhaps those words, which will always follow me, are what make me say “Always forward!”
It is a beautiful love, The one untainted, Thoughts of future and the burden of past.
Where eyes meet together, Bonding of arms and closeness of heart, When the pain becomes one, Dread disappears, Problems stay, But hope lingers.
And in that moment, Fear fades, irrelevant, Obscure, With hands held, Greeting the dawn of the new day, And with it, Fresh hope that it brings.
Her fear, mine. My burden, her choice to carry. Whatever the new day brings, Be it a red sunrise, Or a dark eclipse, Two hearts beat as one, In an endless musical of life. In its grand scale, Peripheral, To them, Everything.