Restless Notes pt 3

A continuation of parts one and two.

That was the point where my thoughts began to collide, when the hot flames of passion clashed with the frozen reality. I did not want to experience what I had no power over; I wanted to be bathed with the tenderness of an illusion, even if it were temporary.

What has become of me? What madness of a miracle would bind the two of us together? It was just an illusion, a dream..

Who judges whether or not a person loves another more, or vice versa? Who defines love? It had always been asked but never answered.

The battle waged between heart and mind. I had gone through incomprehensible pain as I lived through what my heart has decided. I had enjoyed the ecstasy of emotions that followed. But at what price?

Why does sadness follow our hours of happiness? Why is it that when we are happy, we love the little moments of passed sadness and irony? Is it because we want to regret and dwell endlessly on thoughts that should have been forgotten?

Why would I find my sadness in my cause of happiness? A piano had brought happiness… why would fate orchestrate it so that it becomes a melancholy note? I thought without resolution. I did not want to admit to a destiny that could be moulded. I refused to let the blasphemy that is fate decide on my behalf.

But it was nonchalant to my desires. If I had decided to change my fate, then my fate was to change it. There was no escape from this paradox.

That wretched chair at the balcony, the sky. My eyes wandered across her apartment, scanning shadows through windows. I had to see her, even if I were to stay up till the dawn. I had always thought that I had made the wrong choices by giving up.

But is it not through these wrong choices, that a person becomes right? How many wrongs have I done! What makes a man other than his mistakes, and his admittance and commitment to make them right? What would a man accomplish in life if it were not for these mistakes?

The hours passed, and I slept with these thoughts a pillow for my head, the sky my blanket, the silence my guardian angel.

Dreams, again. She was playing the piano and did not look at me, and seemed indifferent to my presence. I was unable to move or speak. I felt as though I were a ghost observing her fingers dance across the piano keys. She never turned her head, but her physical proximity troubled me. My dream denied me any freedom and will. It would not allow my heart to love her and be close to her; to feel her face, to look her in the eyes, to breathe her breath.

I found myself in a room lit by the moon, my love on her bed, breathing softly as she slept. What could she have been dreaming, then? What could she have been thinking as she surrendered to sleep? Had she thought of me, had she thought of what I had felt? Were her heart and mind duelling as well?

She lay bathed in the dim moonlight, rendering her a magnificent creature in the night.

Why do we watch our loved one sleep? What makes sleep a weakness in a lover’s heart? Do we find peace in sleep? Is an escape from the pain we harvest in our waking hours? Or is it the tender tranquillity that is exhaled from a sleeping body?

She slowly faded away into the darkness, and I remained alone for what was left of the night.

Restless Notes pt 2

Continuation from the first part.

I stared at the paper with pity. I pitied myself for being so fragile and weak. I wished I were like the others. Life would have had a different flavor and  the wind would have carried a different scent.

But at that moment,my soul was in that letter. I grew weary, lifeless in beauty like a gargoyle amidst the lilac sea. But God would not create a weak and fragile beast for no purpose. I had a purpose; I had become to believe that I am a cloud that hovers above humankind, away from the troubles of life, always seeing the earth as a crafted piece of heaven. And when I felt that someone had been suffering below, I pour down my rain so that there would be new life, a new hope, a reason to move on.

But clouds deal with the thunder and the lightning.

I held the letter not knowing what to make of it. I tore a small piece of the paper; do not deprive me of your melody­ – I folded it as neatly as the little piece would allow, and tied it to a small pebble with a piece of cloth, and threw it to her balcony. The paper landed by the leg of the piano. I felt content, satisfied; she would muse me with her reaction the next day.

That night, fate had made its atrocious decision, a rite which it performs on every man’s soul. The rite of planting the seeds of compassion and affection, doomed seeds they are. Mine have been planted before, the weed felt no remorse.

The threads of destiny drew me to the balcony in an attempt with delicate vehemence to weave my soul into another. I sat at the balcony and looked down at the piano such painful melancholy. The letter still lay by the piano. She had not read it. Or had she ignored it? Could it be that she had not seen it? Such thoughts bound themselves to my mind. I could not escape them, they grew inside, multiplied, and I felt that death was more honourable at that hour. I regressed to my bed.

I witnessed a dream, my with the absence of a companion and no piano to awake me. Life was as it was. The street below spoke of its tales from the early morning and beckoned me to be part of its life. I strolled the streets, visited the shops, and wandered without aim but without fear. My sense of security returned, but an element was missing. My dream ended abruptly.

As I arose from the bed, notes of a piano sang in my ears. She had read the letter, understood its contents, and kept an un-pledged promise. I overflowed with energy, I ran towards the balcony, and looked upon her side.

There she sat, playing the piano. The letter was not where it was once; it sat upon the piano. Her notes forced a new blood through my heart, one that I have so longed for. I did not want to miss one note, and I cursed myself to have been asleep while she played.

The pigeons and the birds danced to her melody as they soared in the cotton morning sky. The road below had no more stories to tell. The people all seemed happy, their voices muted in the air. The frightening details of life have disappeared. I was blind to all the greyness of the city, I was falling in love.

Her notes ceased. The birds drifted away into a warm draft, leaving both of us, two balconies apart, separated by silent air. She did not make the slightest movement. She appeared frozen as if her mind was suddenly possessed by a strong thought. The chatter of the people below was inaudible to me. My ears heard nothing but my heart pounding through the silent sound of thoughts.

She reached for the letter, and opened it with slight reluctance. What could she have been thinking at that moment? I watched, mesmerized, inspecting every possible movement she made that manifested the slightest emotion.

She neatly folded the paper, and placed it on a table that was to the right of the piano. A small lamp, another piece of paper and a pen lay on the table as well. She returned to the piano, seated herself, stood up and she returned to her chambers.

Restless Notes pt 1

I woke up at a beautiful piano note, undoubtedly played by a woman. The notes were gentle, and carried a semblance that only women could possibly possess. The sun had already been hung in the cloudless skies, but other than the piano notes, there were no signs of life. Even the air did not seem to breathe.

There was no one in the room; the door remained ajar as it were the night before. Whoever accompanied me had fled into the previous night. My mind was focused on the notes; little did I know that the notes would be played upon the ashes of my youth.

I sat on the unmoved chair at the balcony, and looked across towards the opposite building in search for the source of my wake up call. There was a large balcony on the second floor, and a woman, whose back faced me, played the piano. There was nothing enchanting about her, but her hair flamed at the tips with crimson red. I was mesmerized by her music; it held me captive to its magic. The sad tone brought back memories of past, of a lost love I had, someone whom I perceived to be the princess swan, someone whose prince was not I. I closed my eyes in remembrance of every moment I had with her. My heart had been an open book to her, but she had failed to write in it, except daunting, false promises and an anguishing friendship that I had to forever bear. She had been my Northern Star, my only light through the darkest seas.

The lady by the piano had stopped playing, relieving me from my memories. She stood up and went inside her abode. I remained motionless, cold to the sun and deaf to the street. I had an impulsive thought; I wanted to write her. I wanted to express to her how I felt to her music, how it made me remember and relive all my fears and my memories. I had not talked to the woman yet, nor was I able to judge or compare her beauty, but the notes she played were more than enough for me to capture the essence of her character. Thus, I wrote:

I write to you today even though my mind forbids me to. But my ashen heart has been rekindled by the warmth of your notes. I write to you with fear that I will, at one point, hate you for loving your notes. I do not wish to be in love with you, nor do I ever wish to even see your face. All I desire is for you to wake me from my reality, to be in dreams for as long as life flows through your fingers. I plead to you: Do not deprive me of your melody.

Fields of Coral

The car engine hums gently as I drive the long winding road on the stretch of desert between the city and my new home, a concept that my mind does not appear to grasp. Home, what is home?

My journey home starts as I tune in to what I, in my humblest of opinions, consider a musical masterpiece, Fields of Coral by the legendary Vangelis.

The lights dim as the road in front of me melts into despair. Despair soaked in evil, spawning dark wakeless waters where I set sail. Tempestuous winds billows the sands, molding them into mountains before whittling them into voiceless cries.

I enter the borderless waters of insanity. A black canvas with blots of cracked paint and torn fragments of skin and decaying double faced overweight demons. A mad world where the artist holds a brush, soaks it in water instilled with fear to mend the cracks of broken canvas with an idea that may save it from utter oblivion. To save it from the demon with the flaming hair and the halos around the wrists.

Jellyfish-like monstrosities glow in the deep, yet serene and peaceful the ambient, muted light they provide. It’s the fear in the cell, the genetically coded nonsense we code ourselves. Fine wonders, artistic fiends with tentacles gripping the truth and feeding on the obtuse, the very artist.

And yet I pass with no fear here. I am welcomed, lauded with a fiery display of magnetic winds and sands, an aquatic dance with thoughts and desires, lustful intimation and an ardent embrace of letting go.

It is in this insanity, that I can feel home.

Another World

The sea whispered a tide longing for a melody. He acknowledged, but he, too, longed for a melody – that of silence. There was no wind, no gulls, no swaying grass. His breathing and the sea’s whispers were what filled the air.

I have not written in so long.. why I do not know. Is it because I have nothing to write about? On the contrary. There are so many emotions and feelings I would like to put on paper. Random thoughts that taunt me in my sleeping hours. To me in dreams they come, and in dreams they stay. I could not take them to paper anymore…

His dog heard neither the waves nor the breathing. Rather, he cared not for those – there were other sounds and noises that distracted him. An army of crickets were bickering about who would eat what was left of the grass -

But there is no grass!

- and they fidgeted about and made him dizzy. The dog looked the other way. He could hear some “quietness” from the other side. He wished to be there, away from the crickets. His owner was too busy though and he knew better not to bark right then. All he could do is lie low and hope the crickets would eat the damn grass already.

Dreams dreams dreams. Everyone dreams, but we do not all remember our dreams, and those who do, we do not remember all of them. Often when I’m stressed my dreams turn into nightmares and often I could not distinguish them from reality. I often feel someone is choking me and I wake up barely able to breathe. I wonder if I died in my dream what would happen..

The man sighed. He knew the sea would not give up and that he would not find his peace. He was an impatient man – if he had waited for some time, the tides would calm down. But that was uncertain. At any moment a wind might come unsuspecting and shake the sea and the earth. The weather is as random as what the future holds. He knew that the only way he could find peace is by giving the sea its peace.

Perhaps I’m too hard on myself. I think a lot of many things. They all jumble into big blobs of incomprehensible stupidity and drive me insane at night. I especially hate it when there is also a song that loops indefinitely for days. It is like I have my own personal music video every night.

The crickets seem to have decided that there is no enough grass to feed everyone and that whoever eats what is left of it, would get eaten by the other crickets. After lots of deliberation, they unanimously voted to go to another location where there is enough grass for everyone. Whoever did not unanimously vote will be left behind to eat said grass and be eaten by passing animals and birds. This is what the dog rationalized anyway since he could not find any other excuse for them to suddenly be quiet, pick up and leave. Or maybe, he thought, he was putting too much thought into it. Crickets don’t deliberate! But his owner isn’t moving anytime soon so he kept contemplating this idea and coming up with others.

And to think that sometimes there is no one but me and the sea. I could visibly see other cars dotting the shore. Some of them couples making out, others having some food, others dancing. I’m sure though there is an idiot or two, like me, sitting here in the car and watching the sea roll its waves on the shore. Are they drinking beer too? I love beer. Too bad it burns my throat. And now some muftis are saying non alcoholic beer has alcohol. Some people are just too bitter.

The man took out his violin. He never memorized any piece of music to play. Rather, he always played what he was feeling right then and there. He wasn’t a composer but in his mind he knew if he had written down the notes, he would make millions out of his music. But each piece is spontaneous and he could never play the same tune twice. It was a blessing and a curse. But he didn’t dwell too much on the idea – but while he did, it was translated into music. And he attained his closure.

I like it how we distract ourselves with some things to ignore other things. I mean what is the point of all this writing really? I couldn’t write anymore. I have not written in ages. And to think I actually have some published work! The irony of things. This is the best time to write and I am not taking my chances.

The dog was happy the crickets finally left. As soon as he put his head to sleep, his owner started playing the violin. Did he honestly have to? Sigh… it is fine, he thought. Let him play. At least now he knows it is a matter of time before the tune is over and they leave. So he ignored the tune and started to listen to something more peaceful. The sound of the sea and the light wind. The sea is such a relaxing place from up here on the hill. Probably if his owner would take him down he could play. But for now he has to make do with some relaxation. Probably it is best to rest. There are probably crickets down there.