There is always something that is hurting and consuming us from within – something that we cannot share with the world. We are always bleeding quietly . . .
Mahofon clambered down the last of the cliff-face. To his estimation, it must have been a sixty-metre drop, but with such unchanging weather, safety could be gathered through time. There is little risk or rain, he mused, otherwise these smooth rocks could have been fatal. He held a staff as he descended, a twisted green cedar intertwined with a single, smooth brown branch. It concluded, at the end, with a purple eye. As he touched the floor of the ravine, he gazed out across the new plain that stretched before him. I have merely descended the step of a giant’s staircase, he thought. It was a vast ravine, and the rocks found now in the basin were smoothed. He ran and caught up with the remainder of the group that had gathered away from the giant’s step, “retreating from the dangers of falling rock” as Mombulu had stated.
The troop began to erect a camp. Several tents crafted from a rough hide were placed on polls high, and pegged down. The fall of Dulkatra’s hammer could be heard amidst the general chatter that had gathered from the others, and, of course, the incessant wind. He was pressing the pegs into the ghastly ground. The sun set behind them as others ventured to collect wood. Its final rays were snuffed out by the step they had taken, and a pile of tortured wood was formed at the center, now in almost complete darkness. Mombulu called Mahofon over, and requested a flame from his staff. Unlike Cescar’s own staff, Mahofon’s blinked now with the request uttered. Mombulu stared somewhat worriedly at the staff – he often wondered if it could feel.
Mahofon strolled up to the firewood, and with a small utterance of his own, the dead wood spluttered into new life. Flames licked the heavens and embers danced among the dark expanses before falling back to the brown soil. He retreated somewhat, and sat on the outskirts of the flickering light. The exhaustion of the day caught up to him now; his legs almost collapsed under the aches of marching.
Immersed in monotony, one may wish for time to travel fast,
Make no mistake; all will wish for time to stay.
One should’ve learnt that all of time travels to the past,
And that’s with you, riding on the back, one day.
Although, isn’t a moment measurable,
Not through numbers but through emotion?
Lest one forget, time isn’t always pleasurable,
Like a fine sea, to a flailing ocean.
A beautiful aching – a painting to express the state of pain, which is cherished.
I had a dream last night while I was sleeping inside the house I made in the middle of the field. I was flying by a million stars. I was awestruck and glanced at all the passing stars, each more beautiful than the other. I flew across the Orion’s belt and came upon Betelgeuse. There I hovered in front of its magnificence. I tried to shield my eyes with my hand in hopes of getting a glimpse of the star’s beauty. Its light was so bright, it pierced my iris and penetrated my soul. There, I froze for what seemed to be forever, trying to steal a glimpse but never succeeding. The strangest thing happened though, as an eternity was spent in the effort. The star slowly faded. Its light diminished and as if it was ready for me to gaze upon it. I looked straight at it and what I saw was severely disturbing.
Countless spirits were leeching off its light. Syphoning it away into their bottomless bellies. These were not the good spirits, but the wretched ones. They all had collars around their necks and they were being held there against their will by leashes which were held by deceitful men and women. Who were they? Why were they devouring the starlight? I ran towards them, hoping to be able to save the star but no amount of force could eliminate the imposters. Soon I had no more strength in me, and while floating away quietly, I closed my eyes and wished kindness and healing upon the spirits and their masters. There was a long silence. A blast of radiant light covered my floating body again. The spirits had broken free from their leashes and the men and women were no longer there. A tiny drop of tear escaped my eyes and floated away into the emptiness.
I woke up to a bright day outside. I rubbed my eyes, and went to the door and pushed it open. A few steps outside revealed the fields around me. They were full and the vast landscape was thriving with life. Towards the east, I had planted love of all things. The west field held the crop of honesty. The north had trees of empathy and in the south, there was an endless field of flowers of hope. In the middle stood my house. I was proud of the realm I had created. I held my tools in one hand and started another day of work in the fields. I labored away that day, thinking about how in the dream, only a mere charitable wish had the power to save the star.
In a place high above the earth,
I stood and asked the mountains
Questions about greatness
Hope is survival
Patience is strength
Kindness is soul
Honesty is grace
Loyalty is virtue
The mountains sang,
And what you must not forget my friendthepleasantsimpleguy
Modesty is greatness . . .