The mountain is lost in the thickness of the
mist, hiding with it the secrets of the living. As the torrential and
unforgiving rain bears down heavily to the already soaked earth, who can tell
how many tears are being shed by the eyes of the hidden? Seeming as though the
door of the terrace is floating in the heavens, as contrary to the depths the
heart of the one who stands to look outside has plunged...into an abyss far
deeper than the eyes can fathom, blacker than the darkness of the night. The
cold draft brought upon the room feels warmer than the coldness that has found
its way deep into the bones of the one crawling on the ground. The sounds of
the world is muted by the deafening countless drops of tears from the heavens.
A gentle rain cleanses this earth of its dusts and filth, rejuvenating the heat
scorched land. Yet the pressure that has built up, and the force at which it
moves, it seeks not rejuvenation...but destruction. How many lives has it
taken? I only have one life I would want to deliver from this world. Yet the
drowning conversations of a tongue incomprehensible delivers to me the vital
essence of living. If only I can describe the beauty of it. But how can one’s
mouth describe beauty when his eyes are drenched in red? Soaking and drowning in
his own pool of blood, hate and destruction. Words senselessly uttered, letters
monotonously brought together in an attempt to organize a life c=scattered in
pieces from the start. But is one condemned by hoping? Or wishing? What of the
failures that is born with us from the womb? How can one describe happiness?
Would getting what we want bring us happiness? Or of desire? What are these
ramblings of this life about? What is left after the storm? Will there really
be the rainbow?
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