He Spoke ....

He spoke of hopes unfettered
He spoke of dreams being shattered

He spoke of perceived perfections
He spoke of pale reflections

He spoke of you
He spoke of me

He spoke of saints and mothers
He spoke of monsters and murderers

He spoke of autumns in the park
He spoke of whispers in the dark

He spoke of you
He spoke of me

He spoke of the stars we would reach
He spoke of the lies people preach

He spoke of conclusions we derive
He spoke of the helpless we deride

He spoke of you
He spoke of me

He spoke of a soul set free
He spoke of a goal unreached

He spoke of the bridges we burn
He spoke of the corners we turn

He spoke of you
He spoke of me

He spoke of heaven on earth
He spoke of the funeral dirge

He spoke of the fears we conquer
He spoke of the tears we dry

He spoke of you
He spoke of me

He spoke of walls to break
He spoke of steps to take

He spoke of the living retreating to their caves
He spoke of the dead turning over in their graves

He spoke for you
He spoke for me

He spoke to you
He spoke to me

The explanation of the poem, as requested, is posted in the comments.

The End Of Innocence

Running through the ruins of my town ... my beautiful little town where everyone knows ... knew everyone else. All gone ... everyone's gone ... everyone's run away ...
Where the fruit vendor on the side of the street nods to me every morning as I follow the meandering streets to school. Nice old man, even let me take an apple from his limited stock every now and then ...
I wonder if he's alright.
Where the trees shower me with yellowing leaves.
Where the red sun setting on the horizon turns the sky a beautiful violet.
Where the days roll by under a deep blue sky ...
Where I laid my head in tall brown grass swaying in the wind ...
Where ....
They shouldn't have come. They shouldn't have done this ... anything but this. My town ... my home.
They've poisoned my fairy tale...
So much dust, making things hazy. If only there was more light. Never realise how much of a difference a candle makes until you try running around in the dark.
Footsteps, each one like a nail being hammered into a coffin. Loud and sure. Behind me, ahead of me ... surrounding me.
Echoes ... whispers in the dark. Distinct. Calling me to him ... slow, drawling accent ... he's had too much to drink... Please, please, please, let him have had too much to drink.
Maybe he won't catch me then.
I won't let him catch me. I won't ... I won't let him hurt me. I won't be like the other boys ... I won't!
My slippers are useless ... the soles making too much noise. Am sure he can hear me. Sure ... sure. I'm better off without them. I'll come back for them later.
Yes, yes ... later! I'll come back for them later...
I hope I can come back for them later.
Dropping the slippers was a good idea. Moving faster. Moving quietly. I hope he doesn't find them...
Oh no, rain. Not now. Not now. Have to keep moving. Have to get away.
I hope he didn't hear that ... the creak of that door sounded too loud ... I hope he didn't hear that.
Ouch! What did I step on? Too dark.
Glass? Thick ... spectacles. They left the spectacles behind. How will he see?
It's bleeding .. I should've looked where I was walking ...
They left in a hurry ... left a lot of things behind ...
Tea cups with the handle broken off, shattered saucers ...
They even left the boots behind ... walking sticks & umbrellas ...
I wish I had that car ... with the remote control ...
I wonder if they'll mind if I take it ... I don't think they are coming back ...
I'll come back for it later. Need to hide right now ... I hope he didn't hear the door.
Why would they tear open the mattresses? Why are parts of it darker than the rest?
The door! He's found me!
Under the bed ... he won't find me there ...
He's coming up the stairs. The other side of the bed ... maybe he won't see me.
Uh! They left something on the floor ... no, they left someone on the floor!
"Miss? Miss!"
She's ... she's dead!
What's that in her hand? Black ... too dark ... Oh!
"Let go, Miss! I need this! He'll leave me alone if I have this! Let go!"
Why is she holding on so tight?! Let go, damn it!
"Come here, kid. What you shaking your head for? Come here now or I'm coming there to get you!"
No ... no.
"Don't come any closer ... don't ... (sniff) ... please."
The recoil should have broken an arm, instead, it broke a spirit ... it broke a heart ...

My Opening Farewell

Who cares?! Nobody I know for sure.
He stuck another pin into his already bleeding arm ..... the blood spreading slowly across his skin, a low giggle escaped from his mouth.
The pain was real ... pure. It didn't judge him ... didn't hurt him ... didn't ask him to be anything. It liked him for who he was. He reveled in it... made himself feel alive, animated.
It complemented him ... added itself to who he was ... made him something more than himself ... made him larger than the pathetic life he was leading.
The blood was real, true. The scarlet against the wheat ... the contrast almost made him laugh and another low giggle escaped through his lips.
As daylight gave way to another evening and the stars began to peek around the corners of their nooks and crevices in the black velvet of the night ... he sat with a tiny bottle of the best whiskey he could afford ... a treat, gift for himself ... something he had always wanted to try ...
That tickles ...(snicker)
Another pin ... stuck with a trembling hand into an arm beginning to look like a pincushion.
The now familiar scarlet stain spreading onto his white shirt ...
Fuck! Mom's not going to be happy with that
He fell onto his side, laughing ... a maniacal laugh ... a sad laugh ... a laugh no teenager was supposed to laugh.
He reached into the small box of pins ...
That's convenient (giggle)
The blood spreading across his index finger ... a pin stuck in the tip.
A swig of whiskey ... a drop of blood ... a low chortle ... another pin ...
Teeth bared ... half smile ... half grimace.
Swaying, he got to his feet ... staring out to the horizon where the sun went to sleep ... losing its glory to a moon yet to show itself ...
Tears slid down his face as he surveyed his empire of dirt ...
Its yours ... all yours! Do with it as you will!
A child's drawing ... on the ground ...
A whole lot of squiggles ... three people in a green field ... a house with a red roof behind them
My mommy, My daddy and me in our new house ...
His eyes focussed, staring into the shining sun made with a yellow crayon ... she had tried to use orange and given up.
A maniacal laugh, muffled by the bottle touching his lips ... he fell to the ground, unable to keep himself upright any longer.
Ironical. It would do ... it would do well.
Unsteady hands reached into a coat that fit all too well ... the pen got stuck in the silk lining ... pulled out with unnecessary force that tore it ...
Sorry Mom ...
laughter, loud and hoarse ...
The crowning piece in the small box ... a blade ... thin as a hair, sharp as a knife, light as a feather and as heavy as a mountain.
giggle ...
His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on his wrist ... holding the blade against it.
A flick of the wrist...
He tries to repair his broken thoughts ...
The pen scraped against the paper ... "Goodbye, cruel worl" the 'L' dragged across to the end of the page ...


World Suicide Prevention day is on 10th September.

Another 55

..... And we're back!!!
I spent half an hour reading what had been written earlier (sequence provided below) and the next half quite literally seeing stars.
It started with me and finally got to Sketcher as follows:-
Stargazer > 'Smee! > Rize > El Furibundo > Sketcher
Now that its come full circle, I'm at a loss...
Given the stars these guys have made me see ... I decided to introduce a few of my own.
Here goes.....

He craved the comfort the green leaves provided.
With trembling hands he rolled up another cigarette.
Long drag ... visions - clearer ... confusion - lost in smoke.
Noon to battle the witching hour ....
"The Bard shall guide me! A rose by ...."
The left eye smaller than the right ... who is she?

Right then. Sketcher, hope I've reached a new level with this. ;-)
Adding a new blogger to the fold.
Leena, will thou meet the challenge set forth?

Edit: Leena responds here

The truth about ... truth

"All our knowledge has its origin in our perceptions."
Loenardo Da Vinci, a man much wiser than I once said that. He was, or should I say is, undoubtedly correct.
The last post on this blog was a series of three sentences, a total of fifty four words, woefully out of context leaving the reader to fill in the blanks. More accurately, it provided the blanks asking the reader to fill in the sentence.
Not entirely the aim of the exercise, an interesting side effect made itself apparent.
Nine of ten people who told me what they thought of it had different (putting it very very mildly) views on what the sentences meant or were supposed to convey.
Opinions ranged from the romantic (saying that the woman the smoker loved was on the train. This is the view that was duplicated, in a way, the second person said that something precious to him was on the train) to the metaphysical where the train represented a "train of thought."
Another person looked upon the smoke as a sign of hope in the midst of sadness and gloom, represented by the "blackness surrounding him."
An opinion that came as a surprise to me, was on a tangent to all of these, namely, a vision of green fields and the smoker, a happy man.
Each of these disparate views of the same fifty four words took me back to them and each time staring at them with an incredulous expression the question would be asked "Could it really mean that?"
The answer - absolutely!
Each of us marches to the beat of a different drummer and will do so in spite of the best efforts of those around to change the tune. The drummer plays in the most private and sacred of all places ... our heads.
The fundamental ingredient of knowledge is truth. Each person saw in that passage truth as perceived by him/her. The implications of this, while very clear in everyone's mind, has not found voice or come to the forefront. To see an example of this is .... humbling.
Empirical evidence of the individuality governing each of us can be seen in the continuation of the story by 'Smee! and the others.
Coming back to what Da Vinci said. If what we know is based on what we see how do we know that what we see is absolutely correct?
The concept of questioning ourselves never finds a foothold in our minds. Why not?
The arrogance and complacence that comes about with admitting that we can never be wrong is a common pitfall that more than a few of us have fallen prey to.
All stimuli one is exposed to are sentences with blanks in them. The blanks being filled up, sometimes incorrectly, by intuition or based on prior experience. Does this mean that the conclusion arrived at based on that educated guess is the best that can be arrived at?
More often than not, the passage of time, accretion of knowledge and growth, in general changes the opinions formed in the yesteryears to ones more apt to the situation. Experience, knowledge and maturity play a greater part in determining how one thinks than one wishes to give it credit for.
One's opinions are like a pot set in clay, if found to have a leak, to be broken, molded and shaped once again into a different pot, to hold water .... this time, losing less.