First sight

Author's note: This work of art is purely fictional.


 
I thought that by now I would know what love is.  How it first started with meeting a completely unknown person. Then, as we got to know each other, I eventually felt this new feeling. I can't describe it perfectly, but I'll jot down different things, wishing that maybe the idea passes on.
 Yearning to be with that person no matter what. A new level of  trust, which actually is quite a big step for a cynical human mind - I'd tell her my deepest secrets and for the first time, I wouldn't be afraid to do so. She wouldn't walk away, she'd sit down and listen to me venting, while holding my hand. Assuring that how I feel is normal and that I shouldn't run away from my thoughts. We'd listen to rain drumming sadly against the glass, but this time there would be no melancholy.
 Every day would have a reason, they would hold something to look forward.
---

But no, this is something new.  It's love at first sight, never thought I'd believe in such a thing, but color me impressed. This is my true love, my only one. I'd give away everything I own, just to have this feeling to be permanent. I'd go through thick and thin for this one, to never let it fade away.
I ponder if I have been telling lies to my wife the whole time. Shit. This is not a good time to wonder something like that. I take few deep breaths and try to relax. And then I see how things are.
 This love is equal to the one I've been feeling for a long time. One doesn't need to flee away for another to reside. They both can co-exist, just like they've done already for the past nine months. My heart is big enough for two loves. Still, I'd go through thick and thin, as I promised.  The love grows stronger, more overwhelming.
I have always thought about this moment, wondering what it feels like, yet never fully understanding the concept but now I truly do. The moment of realization strikes as I watch my wife, holding a pink skinned blanket-wrapped bundle.
I'm not perfect, as no one is, but I'm good enough for this. This is why I am here and now, I'm not just.. well me.  I'm a dad.  

And I must be smiling like an idiot.

Epitaph

Lines of stones. All of them marking someone dear. Someone that has left us, someone whose time here found its end. Maybe it was too short, so brief that we can't understand or it was a long journey with well earned rest.  Was it full of hardships or joy, loneliness or being loved, what matters is the remembrance.

An evening of All Saint's Day.

I walk the path that has become familiar during the years. Up the stairs and past the church. Few rows forwards and then turn to left. As I walk, I slower my pace and take off my hat the closer I get. It's my way to pay respect for those that I don't know. I go past the last rows and arrive. My eyes start to glisten. I feel something in my throat and I barely can swallow. I wipe off the little bit of first snow that covers the stone. I find it hard to think about right words, let alone saying them.
In this silence, I turn towards my wife. Tears are cascading from her eyes. As I hold her I can feel that she's shaking, not restlessly but enough to know that she grieves. To know that the loss weights so heavily on her heart. We both mourn, but I don't clearly know what does the agony of  a mother feel like. Certainly, it must be tougher for her.

I kneel down to light a lantern. A small gesture but it's all I can do. Everything else feels so impossible.

"May the small candle burn in the greatest darkness.
May the light it gives shine bright.
 May it remind us that you are still with us
Even when we can't believe it


Always in our hearts
Your loving parents."

      (c) Nicole Köhler
 

I observe the vast evening sky. The mind of a man cannot fully comprehend the scale of such being. No devices of technology nor wisdom of philosophies and religions can explain this infinity. All of them draw something from it. They pursue to narrate our tales, they thrive to let everyone know about the world around us, for every ideology has its basis and the thrill of mystery surpasses our contentment of knowledge.

But alas! As no cleric, poet nor scientist can write a proper hymn, lyric or treatise for a thing of this magnitude. Somewhere far beyond our horizons lie greater energies. Different size of rock formations, cosmic dust and oceans of elements. 

We can only see narrowly and be left in awe. Above us walks the Guardian who tends the bears that roam around the garden of stars. Somewhere else the Eagle may fall from heights to dive after its prey. The dog of Orion wanders across the sky. It barks fiercely and exposes its sharp teeth while exhaling the heat.

But of course these are just excerpts from the great book of lore and as we wait to reveal what we are able to, we are sentenced - or gifted with time to imagine.
 To focus our earthly eyes upon the starry sky and see what it has to show. And who knows, maybe a glimpse after another can offer understanding and most especially, guidance in our journeys.

Goodbye

I got a sudden surge of inspiration from talking with my friend about goodbyes and farewells and so my odd mind came up with this. Also, to make this more significant, I'll have to say that by writing this I broke through a very persistent writer's block. If you happen to read this, you know who you are and  you'll have my gratitude.
----


This moment of leaving
Doesn't walk hand in hand
It has no farewell kiss
And it doesn't share a last dance

No one plays the last song
No one shares the last cigarette
No one raises a pint
Or takes a moment to remember

It has no words to echo
To break the silence
It's a tearful, heart-rending and brief
And so it leaves you with your thoughts

Alone

I'd like to dream about hugs and kisses, embraces and holding hands. Sipping hot drinks during the foliage colored autumn and baneful, biting, frosty winter. Pondering the universe and our brief, yet beautiful existence in the theater of life. I tend to think about sparkling campfire and roasting marshmallows in its playful flames, drinking wine while watching a movie and laying on the sofa together. Breathing in the scent of hair and being glad to be in that exact moment. Watching the rising or setting Sun, and it marking our being in time, painting our silhouettes on the world's canvas.

If I told you I'm a romanticist, would you believe me? Probably not. But yes, I am one of a kind. Even though the shadow of a pessimist can hide the fact and snap the roses. I treasure those warm thoughts in my imagination. Why there, you ask. Because the world we live in can be harsh, cold and merciless and it makes us its kind.
 The wheel of progression can be seen as a gear of oppression.
 A clockwork of our lack of empathy toward fellow men. And it keeps ticking...

The Crossroads Of the World

Narrow and wide streets with masses roaming on them. Millions of people like ants in a great terraria. Only the unbreakable laws of nature being the glass, the borders for us. Heralds, doctors, legists and men of faith. Churches with gravity defying towers, mosques and their countless minarets. All decorated with stone, gold and ornaments.

You make your way through the sea of citizens. The Grand Bazhaar is bursting with items of trade. As its name implies, it's the greatest marketplace in the city, but not the only one. Here in its many lanes and booths, the money and the goods change their owners. Scent of spices overwhelm your nostrils and you find something new. Rich coloured cloths are embroided in every shade you can imagine. Sometimes the loud chatter stops and people step aside, showing respect for their superior. Guardsmen are on their hourly patrol, clad in emerald and orange.

The Sun is soon setting and you decide to leave. The thought of being in shady alleys during the prime time of criminality doesn't inspire you. As you stroll down the street and admire the architecture you cannot but keep pondering the city's beauty. As you arrive at the harbor, you take a ferry across the waterway, to the other side of the town. You pay for the ride and give some extra gold for the driver. You pick up your things and head for a drink. The local beverage isn't the best one you have had, but it's not the worst - having heard that decades ago, during the war, people had to mix water with the alcohol as the wine was scarce.

You sip up your drink, pay and leave for the last place to visit tonight. Although the streets being narrow in this district of the town, you find it easier to navigate with less people walking around. After few moments you find what you were looking for: the tallest tower in the city. Your legs ache as you take a step after another, thinking that the stairs will never end.

But your struggle was worthwhile: Standing on the balcony, you see the Haliç - or Khrysókeras, as the last owners of the city did call it - gleaming with the Sun. On the horizon, you see the seven hills all in green. The Sun casts its last rays on the domes of the red coloured mosque and its domes shine with gold. Not far from it, there's a smaller version of it and the Imperial Palace.

What a magnificent place to rule, to live in, to breathe in.
This, and much much more is the Queen of Cities.

The Crossroads of the World.

Play

[Act I]

Can you see all that I am
How I protect by hiding things
As I conceal what is true and build a labyrinth of poetry
Romanticism and melancholy being the bricks and wood
Sadness and joy blooming from the garden of thoughts
Gates mold from letters after another, barriers for the cold realism

[Act II]

Colors of twilight flickering on the wall
Evergreen grass moist by dew
Setting Sun painting everything with purple and red
Making the waters glare with gold
Giving the surrounding world a chance to be beautiful
Even for a moment before it's gone

(Nightbird raises its head, croaking for the crown of sky)

After the Sun's descent
The Moon ascends above us
Resting on its throne as a nocturnal queen
Hearing the cries of woeful hearts, how their troubles are untold
Witnessing how secrecies unfold
During the night's silent hours
The wind blows through leaves of trees
Gaia singing the lullabies for those who are unrest
And in her solitude she weeps
As a mother for a child that bleeds

[Act III]

(Dawn chorus can be heard, dreamtime is now dispelled)

Morning is greeted by Moon's temporary downfall
Enemies, nay... friends sign their treaty of nychthemerona
The Sun casts its rays upon the waking world
And so dawns the new day
With the magic of nighttime fading away

(We disappear back into present)

Road.

The Sun crowned the scenery serene
Solitary soul drummed the wheel
Tires burned asphalt underneath
Power lines, lonely houses and lamp-posts

They kept leaving behind.  

The War

I've never been off to a war before
It's my first tour and I'm already missing the home
We are told to shoot a man of different view
Tearing apart what is already askew

Strangest thing to see
Is a barbed wire separating us from the no-man's-land
It's unwise to stand with head up they tell
But why is it so easy to climb over the highway bridge's rail and face the hell

Icaros had wings and desired to be free
Yet the friend of mine couldn't see
The man on the mirror, who he wanted to be
Said he needed to feel like flying
Lot didn't suspect he'd found solace by dying

Today I heard old Tim's going to have a poor burial
As for outsiders our war seemed so trivial
Wonder when we're going to hear the next call
Who gets the honor of being first to climb over the wall

Nightfall

Sun sets beyond the horizon
Painting the sky with shades of purple and gold
It flickers on the water and clouds
Bowing for all, before the shadows fall

(The pearl now rests on the velvet)

And the serene tune of nightbirds
Echoes for lonesome hearts
For the sleepless children,
Turning in their cribs
For the brethren of Moon and stars


Across the sea of indigo
Over the myriad of isles
From tarmac and city kills
From desert sands to rolling green hills
 
We bathe in the last rays of light
Firstborns of night, we breath its air
And thus we're free from care

The Song Of Your Own

This is a song,  a composed musical piece. 
But can you hear it? 
Can you see it on the paper? 
How has ink told its tale - how has a pen been a tool for an art? 

There's no same melody for your song and mine, nor we share the same lyrics. 
I cannot hear your story in its grandeur and you cannot hear mine.

You see, its notes are the cries of your heart and its lyrics are your deepest wishes, all echoing in you.

You are the songwriter, the poet and the song itself.
The masterpiece.

The House Of A Soulless man

Soulless man has sold his house
Built some years ago to host a heart
Not mine, nor yours alone
But ours, entwined - combined

It wasn't much
Not a mansion of any kind
I just wished
It could be enough

And sometimes
It's easier to leave the world behind
Walk away, to far unknown
To leave the past behind

Next time we see again
We greet with a nod
Two strangers along the road
We are

And sometimes
It's easier to leave the world behind
Walk away, to far unknown
To leave the past behind