the approach of winter

The cold creeps in like the thief. Its presence is neither announced nor felt. It builds up on the outskirts of our senses. We never know of its intentions until the moment it rushes in. When it is too late, we find it everywhere around us. Encased within its cold blue arms, there is no way out. Its grip is as hard as ice, crushing us into submission. The cold slides its freezing palm across our cheeks. All trace of warmth is drawn away and the cold clings on. The cold always remains. The cold draws us toward its motherly breast when it feels that we have suffered it too much. It takes away all suffering, all feeliing, and the sense of touch. As we lay in its midst, we no longer feel its terror. Perhaps by then we do not even know what terror is, or perhaps we do not know anything except to lie there and keep silent. As silent as the cold. Then it snuffs us out as if we were a gentle flame. All warmth is gone. The cold invades. It pursues and harasses. We are powerless in its might. Like a blade it draws itself along our necks, awaiting the command to cut. When cold cuts, its cut is so clean it would seem that its victim was never whole to begin with. As clean as steel, just as steel is cold. The cold is cold-hearted. It is merciless and its massacre is horrendous. It gives no quarter. When it comes swarming around its victim, life no longer proceeds past that suffering stage. Life is preserved in cold. An everlasting life is forged. A life in death. The cold is a blunt blade. It is blunt with its words, going straight to the point of its will. It clutches you by the neck and tells you. It tells you what it wants. It tells you to let it claim your life. It tells you that you are powerless. It tells you that you fear. The cold summons fear. It summons hate and curses from men as well. But it summons fear more than any other. All fear the cold. Both the cold and fear are born together. One does not come without the other. The man who does not fear the cold is a doomed man. The cold is a cruel device, always sneering with its smile so lacking of charm. Like a thousand flying daggers, it stabs us in every possible way in all its grace. Though loved by some and hated by others, the cold hates all.

the song of the morning

The sun rose with the gracefulness of a swan, spreading its endless glory across the heavens. It brought life to the vast sky with its divine presence, adding colours to where darkness had once reigned. The grass sway with the passing wind and sparkled amidst the morning dew. It was a fresh new morning that whispered to me of my unspoken dreams. Then it came floating with the wind, so freely and so gently before falling as if it were a petal. It seemed to be a voice, but if it was, then it was a voice like none other. All that was done was simply a greeting from the courtesy of a charminig young lady, and yet it came to me as a song. It was a song I wished would never end. It was a voice that looked more lovely than a blood rose. A voice that smelt more fragrant than aromatic perfume. A voice that tasted sweeter than golden honey. A voice the felt too soft for my coarse palms to touch. It was a voice I wish to hear again.

We Went And Left A World Behind

When we venture into a world too big,

We often find that we leave things behind.

Things of value, things of great worth,

Things rooted deep into our hearts and mind.

We leave items we cannot bring along,

For the journey that we must take.

Leaving tiny treasures, gifts of love,

Things that we desperately wish to take.

The warm comfort of home is gone,

As we pitch our tent elsewhere.

A lost feeling resides in our hearts,

We lay here lacking love and care.

Love ones that never left our thoughts,

Love ones we shall not meet for long.

A bitter and thirsty longing to see them all,

A useless hopeful thought, an empty song.

We went and left a world behind,

A world familiar, a world we knew.

Our aspirations are far from complete,

The deeds we have done number too few.

We gaze back at the times we had,

We still have much we have not said.

Tears start to form a puddle at our feets,

We will watch the years go by as we wait.

the call of life

We were born into the world undeserving. We were granted a life we did not earn. The land we were born into, we did not choose. Instead, the land chose us, and gave us its fruit of which we live off. After maturity sets in and our growth taken place, the time comes for our story to be written. The path we choose must be right in theory and right in the morals we chose to live by. We should choose to show our gratitude to this land that brought us up and repay it for the good that we were given. We are bound by an unwritten law of nature to owe our loyalty to the land that bore us. Our honour would be at stake if we chose to violate the pact our ancestors made with the ground on which their blood was spilled. Our commitment should not be an empty one. Only when one is willing to fight to whatever cost would this allegiance be made whole. It is not a right. It is a duty. A duty by which failure to fulfill would mean an inglorious and dishonourable death. Through the ages to come, all of the past will be remembered. The honourable dead will be honoured and the dishonourable will be mocked at even in their death. All people of whatever stand, great or small, rich or poor, ruler or subject, owe the same love for the Fatherland. All were born to the same land. All live through the same hardships. All will die for the same cause.

a recount of the present

Author's note: This is a recount of my entry into a new world that may not be so new. If you get what I mean... though I do not myself. Also I do not feel like typing in my preferred Clapasian fashion, thus please make do with this. Still, you must keep your excitement down as this style may also be queer, and definately not normal. And I know it's a bit late, but I got my internet late.

Extreme Sports

Ever since I have been flung far out into lands beyond the reached of my beloved country, I have constantly been plagued with sadness and a deep longing for my homeland. I lay in my own grief wishing to find peace and yet adventures came persistantly though strongly unwanted. On this first night in an unfamiliar land, I longed no more than a shelter to rest under. Entering the unlit domains of my newly aquired home, a sudden coldness swept across my right foot. My sixth sense informed me of a leaking roof, so I looked up, but I found nothing. My tired and heavy head hung down disappointed in my false judgement. Then there it was. Even as my vision was focused straight forth toward the dusty ground, I could spy a giant black image scurrying around the corners of my fully dilated pupils. I spun ninety degrees clockwise, possibly more, and saw before my awesome presence, a spider. Not any ordinary spider, this one must have been enjoying the peace it had in my empty home prior to my arrival. Without having to use my extremely intelligent brain, I calculated that this spider was either the size of my left fist or maybe even more. Further calculations told me that this would be a one-sided battle. I fled. From one corner of my living room I flung one of my only two weapons (my shoes) at the horrendous creature unknown to mankind, or possibly only unknown to me. As if in slow motion, I watched my shoe rotate its way toward the spider, finally missing it by a good ten inches. Still, it was sufficient and the spider jogged away. It stopped and hid behind a black bag. From that second on, I was a changed man. This spider had totally made the wrong move, that black bag was a possession of mine. A chair was swung in a semi-arch and the bag flew off. The vile hairy scum cowardly made his escape, only to be impeded by my right foot. My left arm holding my other shoe, flew downward while I shouted, "Bankai!" But the filthy spider played dirty by dodging my grand slam. It should have just stayed there. A great chase was made, it probably lasted ten seconds, possibly less. Zooming its way into the garage and dodging my well aimed frenzied attacks, the spider scurried under the family car. In a flash I was off and back again (I even had time for a glass of water), without my right shoe, but with a bottle of insecticide in each of my hands. I ducked down to give the spider one final look at my extremely smart-looking face before I ended its miserable life. It was not under the car. With extreme speed and gracefulness, I spun around firing my sprays the same way Mr. and Mrs. Smith did. I kept spinning, anxious to avoid the smeaky spider's ambush. I dashed through the door and back to safety, fellig dizzy and extremely annoyed at my failure. Then, there on the kitchen floor, I saw two cockroaches that would later suffer my wrath.

a letter of simple words

To the lady whom I may never meet again,

Much time has passed since I first had these feelings in my heart. These feelings that were never forgotten. These feelings that brought such warmth to my weakening soul. I had never knew such warmth before I met you. The world may collapse and burn upon the ground that it stands on but I will live on, lingering on these sweet memories of you. For even amidst the terrors of my life, I had always found strength just simply by thinking of your fair face. Just the thought of you brings me renewed courage and hope to cross the obstacles enveloping around me. How much I long to hear your voice, the sweet sounding music that proceed from your lips. They carry on as echoes in my mind, so I can hear them till my end. How adorable you look in all that you do, where ever you are, every second of your beautiful life. My nerves fail me when I see your face and I fall to the ground in awe of the spectacle before me. Without doubt, this will not be so before another. You are all that exists in my world, and may you remain so. Yet it pains me to know that my day of leaving draws close. Is it possible that I may never see you again? This horrible punishment that I know not why is inflicted upon me. It does not matter that I do not find space within your heart. Neither does it matter if I do not even exist in any of your thoughts. All that matters is that it is an allowance for me to love you and to see your face. Now that this right is wrenched out of my grasp, I only know bitterness. All I beg is that you remain in my memories, and all that was done with you...

Gracio meinen musofine Nylekoj, jac var beetion teylhu.

a time of void

The bitter hate that blinds our senses. The seductive joy that plunges us into a world of ecstasy. The fancy hope that gives life a meaning. The somber sorror that destroys our souls. The feelings of the world, they exist as such. And yet of late, I have been unable to feel the dispositions of a normal mortal. I live in void, and the void clouds my thoughts. My heart tells me nothing, and my mind does not know of what to do. I am in a whirl even as I speak. I feel lost and misplaced. A mist deprives me of my sight. A searing cold numbs my sense of touch. My ears are rendered disfuntional by the screeching silence around me. When will I be relieved of my burden? When will I be free of my load? When will I feel life again?