Lighting candles-emoticon flowers
No time for poetic words.
No understanding of political motives.
No trust in security situation.
Nothing left, but a call for solidarity
Candles lit at window sills between 9-10pm,
light to distill the silence of the night
Emoticon flowers before your name,
in memory of those who passed away
Fear in your heart and in your mind,
feeling your soul slipping, drowning, fading
Time is devoid
Actions are suspended
No one is left untouched
No life is spared the terror
From the north to the capital,
People are wounded...
Dwelling in the rubble
of their homes and dreams
Wondering why they're still here
Wondering if they should breathe
Knowing nothing with certainty
Desperately clinging to futile measures
of lighting candles and emoticon flowers
Hope? Only children dream of hope, and I am a child no more. I was wondering why it is May and still winter lingers, cloaking us in its foggy apparel, trying to shield us from the violence and the terror, trying to give us the security of the womb which we left so long ago.
This is madness, and it is slowly seeping into our veins, draining our energy, straining our love...
I vowed, I would not post about another bomb, another threat, another scary situation. But I can't. If I don't tell someone, this frustration, this "impuissance" will build up and choke me. I can't bear to hear the news flash and the whining sound of sirens... Can't bear to wait for mobile lines to connect to a loved one. Can't stand the uncertainty of the present and the future, knowing only I don't want a repeat of the past... I am worried, this constant flow of negative energy and horrible actions are taking their toll... I turn to the virtual for solace, to provide comfort and to reach out to others, to comfort, so I forget my fear.
This is becoming a land of fear, thirsty for blood, fueled by greed. My soul is barren... tears have left an acidic after-taste and forever tainted the hope that had been trying to grow.
I want to cry some more, but im afraid if I start, I won't be able to stop. In fact, I want to weep, to scream, to moan... this is madness...
Perched on the roof, looking out unto the world, searching for my soul...
While in Normandie, playing a game in the Bayeux village, we stumbled unto this open tower, falling to pieces, whose door had been left open. Not able to resist the temptation, we wandered up the staircase, avoiding falling into little gaps left by rotting wood and disengaged stone, to reach the top. There we gazed unto an intimate overview of the village, and soaked in its serenity and beauty.
I dream of living under a pitched roof with bay windows, where I can look out unto the world and search for my soul...