Michael Daaboul. 25 y/o from Australia/Melbourne. Creative designer & writer.
Michael Daaboul. 25 y/o from Australia/Melbourne. Creative designer & writer.
However, she is lonely inside. Broken up with seclusion and depression, she lives each day in a desert with no shelter and no comfort.
Pearls and diamonds no longer bring a smile to her face. Money cannot buy her happiness. So she sits there, looking at the queen she wants to be. On the outside, she is too beautiful for the world. Inside she is her mansion; another cold, bleak and buried soul, another corpse in a grave.
She knows she cannot buy love the way she buys herself through everything. She finds no sense of fulfilment in her life. She visits her memories and discovers nothing special or anything worth remembering. She listens. She hears nothing but the tick of an old Grandfather clock that is so synchronised. It fills every room. As she is what makes her mansion that way, it is her heart that makes her who she is - a heart that yearns for freedom, but where freedom is out of reach.
Her dreams flood in and out of her mind like a high and low tide. She knows what she wants, but does not know how to get it. She dreams for a place, a sunny place, with long green grass where she can run fast, lie down and look to the sky.
She wants to look up and see white wool floating in the blue pool. She wants to lie there, without her poisonous money, not wearing her suffocating gown and without the makeup that masks her inner beauty. She wants to lay there with someone else who will give her a reason not to be scared anymore, someone who will teach her how to love and what it feels like to be loved. She wants to be someone’s one, as the Sun is to the Moon, the clouds to the rain and the Spring to the flowers.
However, her dream is unreachable – an admired but untouchable fantasy. She is a butterfly in a jar unable to fly through her luscious paddock. So all she does, is slowly caress her thick, silky, black hair, as she looks at a forgotten figure in the mirror, alone in her mansion, to the sound of an old Grandfather clock.
Looking out into a crowd of a normal city street, everyone looks different. All wear their fake smiles on their face and wear enough gold to shine away the dark.
However, there is one thing that cannot be seen. Behind those put on smiles on painted faces lies a burden that no one wants to be wealthy with. On the outside it seems like a perfect world.
On the inside, the loneliness deteriorates the mind and soul. No one has a choice in the loneliness game. No one was given the choice whether they wanted to play or not. Everyone is simply a chance card on the board, unaware of what the future will hold for them.
Written by Charles Daaboul
That concludes this 2 part piece. I hope you have enjoyed it. Charles will appear on the site frequently as a guest writer on a regular basis. - Michael Daaboul
Welcome ladies and gentleman. This blog has been running for just under 7 months now and it’s in due course that a new writer is introduced to develop the blog even further. Please welcome Charles Daaboul, my older brother. His work will be featured alongside my own from time to time, and to start the words rolling, I proudly present the first post of a 2 part epic. Enjoy! – Michael Daaboul
In a world plagued with the diseases of humanity, not the physiological diseases, but the ones that influence the mind, society is worried by wealth, power and influence. Such wants only lead to the exclusion of happiness and make home to a silence known as loneliness. People can have anything material. Although, the happiness that everyone yearns for cannot be found. Furthermore, the truth is not far away. No one is left out of this loneliness game, no one.
A large Victorian mansion sits on a cliff with a view of the ocean that ends at the horizon. The mansion, bigger than your superstar, brighter than the Sun and full of life like the newborn, stands high and can be seen from miles on end.
The shadow it casts is an epitome of an eclipse that hides the world with its enigma. The gargoyle statues that cover the four corners of the roof heighten the grandness of what is sufficient to be named a palace.
In all its beauty, the arched-shaped windows reflect the rays from the Sun like piercing swords being thrown by a knight. No mansion is as overwhelming on the outside.
Inside it is a different story. It is like a fridge that radiates the cold throughout every chamber in its system. The darkness fills the rooms and make all blind to the surroundings. The stillness, the quietness and the emptiness make the happy bitter and drained as if the soul has been stolen. There is nothing bright on the inside or anything grand, nothing that reflects the glamour found only on the outside. Through every room, materialistic treasures add to the wealth and pleasures, but the dust sticks to them like a leech on a human. How full of objects, yet how empty of life?
A woman slowly brushes her hair as she looks into the mirror of her bedroom. A woman that is representative of her home.
Slowly, she lifts the brush and gently caresses her hair with it. She strokes it carefully and immaculately with perfection. No woman ever looked so perfect, covered in pearls and jewels.
Her thick black hair that is soft as silk, yet as striking as a bull, covers the sides of a well-defined face. Her skin is soft as fur and her eyes are deep blue like an evening sky. She can make anyone at ease by her beauty and is every man’s curiosity. She smells like a paddock of flowers and makes all men fall to their knees. She is so rich in her image and so rich in her wealth - a painted picture framed in gold.
(to be continued …)
Written by Charles Daaboul
She walks through a place where no one can visit. She looks around and imagines a heart untouched where no one can kiss it. It bleeds and paints the skies, a world of paradise where no one can die.
A heart of a child blessed with this innocence. A rainbow sky with every colour could one day make a difference.
Life has an irregular routine. Sometimes no one is around, but did we take the time to stop and listen?
All alone with this innocence, does any of it make any sense? She is walking alone within this colour, this canvas, a rare type of picture.
A pure mind, the art of it all, there is nothing like its kind. A painted picture like no other, stop and listen, we might be able to see this vision.
Innocence lost and faded with blood that bleeds through these eyes. What she sees is wasted. The only world under a blue sky, a paradise lost within a blanket of lies.
Are you the one who turns around when you speak those words … the words that don’t even make a sound?
Are you the one who turns around when you feel like your heart has hit the ground?
Are you the one who turns away when you say all you need to say … the words that wave goodbye?
Are you the one who stands still and tries to accept the end?
Are you the one who didn’t care?
Did you know that I stood still and I couldn’t even hear you. Your words didn’t even make a sound.
Are you the one that turned away?
Did you notice? When you turned around and walked away, did you notice what I found? I noticed that you didn’t even notice me. Did you notice how you didn’t notice?
Did you notice every time we departed I would turn around to see if you would look back at me? Did you even notice how I would watch you fade into the horizon before I would leave?
Did you notice how you never turned around to see me? I thought you would one day.
Do you know what it feels like to have your heart hit the ground? To have words that didn’t even make a sound to you?
Those same words that never even waved goodbye to you.
Are you ever sick of being a hero?
You have your reputation on the line all the time and if you stuff up, you will never get a second chance.
You are perfect.
First impressions last and with every word you say, they will always be stuck in the minds of those who admire you.
You have learnt that impressions have always lasted
You smile and wave your hand at your fans, but you’re fighting the evil inside. The evil no one knows about because you don’t want them to fear for you, you feel as if it is your own burden to bear.
You never give up trying because the cost of failure is expensive.
The fame is imprinted in your name of being a hero. You live with this expectation on a daily basis. The pressure takes years away from your life, but you always wanted to die before you grew too old to move your delicate joints. You will not be strong enough and you have pondered about this for a very long time now.
Sooner or later they will find out that you are a fraud. You have reporters chasing after you everyday of your life. Is it worth it?
You hide behind a mask, but even when you walk in public, somehow you think everyone knows about your identity. Someone is pulling the plug on you and you can’t help but feel the overwhelming association you have to the source. You feel betrayed.
You learn to hide your identity and then you question who you really are.
Who will be the one to spill the truth about you? It just takes one picture … one failure.
It takes one failure for you to start doubting yourself. You could never fly away or try to turn back the hands of time. Even if you could, you would try to go invisible to hide from everyone, hide from those who need your help the most. Hide from yourself.
You are responsible, courageous; the role model people look up to. You take one wrong move and everyone will be questioning your ability.
You start to realise, "Even heroes know when to fall."
Falling is something you never took too lightly. The word frustrated you. It reminded you of 'failure'.
You have been dubbed ‘the nice guy who finishes last’; didn’t they know how fast you were? You had everything to lose at the start but nothing to gain from this story … your own story.
Even heroes need some company, but they never really had any friends. In the past they had all been jealous of these new found ‘powers’, and those who did feel like they stayed there until the end, they only pretended to be. As a hero, you always had enemies for company.
You still think about being a hero and saving those who need help, but I swear I heard you say, "A hero will not save me …"
Who will save you?
He stood by himself with only one path to walk … he stood still and the ground shook. Everything turned black and white. The pain he could stand. His body changed and there was no one on his side. He broke the dimensions of time and the Sun defined his own existence. Everything changed … he was, born again.
If I was in need of company, you would stand beside me when I needed you most. Forever long you would stand by me so tight. In the end you would make me feel so right.
I realised all I needed was someone like you. The need was very different compared to the want would you believe. The closer my heart came towards you, the more it belonged with you. You became familiar …
Sometimes I wondered if this world even turned when you were not around.
Never fall away from me. You held my hand and you saw everything through and you said to me, "I will always be there."
“Fly the coop with me,” without putting much thought with what I said, you never hesitated to run with me tonight, which is what you told me anyway. You smiled; the type of smile where no words are exchanged.
My heart became cold and it saw a doubt in you. Like all hearts tend to do, no matter how much it did, I knew it was not true because you said, "I will always love you."
They’re the only words strong enough to show a weakness to an organ that is vulnerable. It was infiltrated by an instrument of romance.
It seemed 'forever' was quite a long time for you. You were not sure if your heaven was a place you wanted me to exist in. When you were alone you decided I didn’t belong in there with you. 'Not worthy … never deserving' were the words that circled my thoughts that day.
Sometimes I wonder why this world stopped turning …
Then I realised you weren’t around.
You said, "You will always love me." But you ran away … you ran away without me.
Not too far away at the park playground, someone is listening to the wind.
He is holding a flower and watching the petals fall down as he is thinking about that special someone.
He pulls the petals off another white Ox-eye daisy playing the 'She Loves Me … She Loves Me Not' game.
He wondered if he said the words in French, as if it would make any difference to the outcome at all, while he pulls each petal one by one.
He didn’t want to underestimate his luck, the daisy could possibly grow one more petal while hearing the language to the game’s French origin!
"Elle m’aime un peu … pas du tout (She loves me a little … not at all)," he sighed as he pulled the last petal from the daisy.
He realised that no matter what language you say the words in, they all mean the same thing in the end. Contrary to popular opinion, even a French accent couldn’t change the course of the universe, even if it involved 'love'.
"Does she really know how much I love her?" He said pondering as he looked into the distance.
She is sitting in her room thinking about someone else who is not sitting in the park pulling the petals off a daisy who is thinking about her.
But for some strange reason, you know that she is thinking about someone who isn’t you.
So her heart told her, "Listen, I’m about to go and I think you should know, it was not fair that you have gone after another, when you both liked each other. So I think it is fair that I should go. Because like you, I don’t think I will care, because like you, I will not be there."
There is someone watching the clouds go by and down the road someone else is watching the time.
Not too far away, someone is telling a lie and someone else is writing a rhyme.
While others are trying to just get by, they’re trying to appreciate this life, while many will ask the question, "Why?"
Back at home there is someone near the kitchen sink looking at a knife. Alone and afraid, they’re wondering how nothing really worked out … as they start thinking about ending their own life.
"It is not fair", they all said.
They screamed, "Why did it have to be this way?"
There was nothing innocent about it. These tears have trouble going away.
Someone near your bed side table saying, "I’ll always be there."
With your eyes shut tight, you smile.
While someone else is laughing and someone across the park is dying. But, nobody really knows what is happening when they’re flying.
With a cigarette placed in-between their fingers and spellbound as they smoke their life away, they suck it in and release, "Oh what fresh air!"
It is so good, so addictive, why should any of us care?
There is a patient who is watching the birds sing near the hospital car park.
She escaped when her lungs told her, "Listen honey, I’m about to go and I think you should know, it was not fair when you smoked, so I think it is fair that I should choke."
With cancer, that lovely fresh air, told her a silent answer …
Remember there will always be someone that loves you. They’re near your bed side table saying, "I’ll always be there."
Just know someone out there really cared; when you’re so far away in a fairytale heaven … they will never be there.
(to be continued …)
I’m surprised about one thing though, you never listened to me. When everything was shown to you before, I just wanted you to be with me.
It is hard to think I even wanted you anymore, not when you couldn’t recognise how I used to be.
You left a note while I was gone clearing my mind from the dust. It was like a lyric extract from a song, which was no surprise, we used to always rhyme:
"I commit all of my time and day
Put all my words and what I feel for you
Out every second that went astray
I didn’t think that you could control me this way
But you tried to test me anyway
How you grew so far away from me
I feel like you didn’t take the time and day
You didn’t even see
How I committed myself to you in every single way
It’s like I was trapped never to be set free
Sometimes I feel like this won’t go away
Screaming in my soul like I had nowhere to go
I shouldn’t have trusted you anyway
Stuck in disbelief I should have known when to go
I shouldn’t have let you in
Somehow your heart is made of stone
I’m not the one that likes to sin
This time I’d rather be alone”
I told the wind that day it is because I wanted to feel what it is like, for once, to be me.
With all the stress I forget to breathe, I didn’t think I will live this way.
Sometimes I refuse to go away, if I couldn’t see it my friend, how slowly they took you away.
What used to remain before the day turned into night, all I knew that you were my friend, even after the main part was gone, how light turned into the darkness, somehow I saw how this would end.
I feel the pain when I hear your name, I tried to let you out of my mind. Nothing can distract me when it is the same kind of thing everyday.
I took a long walk outside; they say long walks clear the mind. No clouds in the sky to kiss the ocean that day.
I wanted to put you away, what I hated inside of me, I wanted to set it free and I told the wind it is because I wanted to feel what it is like, for once, to be me.
Our last breath, we know how valuable it will be. Time itself believes how a memory will fade.
Birds flying in the sky, everything feels so unreal in different shades … nothing really lasts forever.
I knew I had it coming, which is why I stayed so low. You walk along the city streets, watching if your shadow is being followed, my eyes crawling to the back of my head, anxiously waiting to get home.
I didn’t even realise how close you were … just in the same way I didn’t realise how I watched you go.
(to be continued …)
You might have seen the sunrise between the stars on the edge of eternity. You might even walk on water and along comes that one thing that makes you wonder …
Who would believe you anyway?
No one talks in abstract conceptions anymore but you left me in your imagination and you searched for the Moon. Everyone thought you were insane, running after planets and hiding your desires inside of your mind.
They were going to put you inside an asylum … you knew it was against the law to dream. So you ran away and left me behind. You never knew that I was the one who was following you. You have forgotten about me. You took me out of your mind and left me inside of one of your thoughts and decided to watch me float away.
Your thoughts disappeared and I was able to be remembered by holding your heart in my own dimension. I didn’t know which way to go, so I followed your memories in hope that you would think slowly, in hope that you would turn around one day and notice me. You know, the one who was hidden inside the memory you seem to have left behind so long ago.
You might have seen me in between the stars on the edge of your eternity, you might even have walked with me on water and you would think that I could have been the one that could have made you wonder …
Who would believe me anyway?
There was this little girl walking at night, bourbon her best friend when she needed a little break from life.
All the boys called her an angel with a smile, but she couldn’t understand how she could fly with her broken wings.
A smile turned upside down as she sings, walking alone through the city lights she cries as the bottle falls from her hand.
The world seemed to go in slow motion as she fell down to sleep.
She was falling apart in her dreams; she had no place to rest. Pain in both worlds her life is a complete mess. She prayed to God asking if everything will be alright, even though she was an atheist.
There was no response, with little hope to spare she prayed to restore any faith she could have left, but there was no forgiveness …
She always wondered if her destiny was in a far away galaxy, she was never a really big believer in fate and karma was no friend of hers.
The Sun had slept in for many days; she wakes up confused in many ways. Bourbon her only friend, with nothing left in the bottle.
"Even bourbon has abandoned me," she says.
Her innocence was stolen; it was taken in the same way we have all read in newspapers and children horror stories.
In her heart and in her mind, everything was slowly falling apart. She wandered down to the ocean; the water is most darkest at night.
"What is wrong?" The shooting stars asked the little girl.
She looks up with tears that fall beside her cheeks that slowly filled her empty bottle of bourbon. Her eyes a broken window of hope. The tears told the stars a story of a short rounded rope. She had no home, and no place to go to. The scarlet stains on her white dress below made the night sky bleed ever so darker, as the stars burned out with such hatred towards the world.
Her pride has been cut into two pieces, just enough for the sexual abuse to feed on. Her heart is weak; it just palpitates as her hands gently sink into the sand.
No place to go she walks alone humming the melody to a song her mother used to sing, in a world where the boys called her an angel.
As for the Sun, it did rise again, her smile, never again. In her dreams she is such a mess; sleeping forever in heaven she can now rest.
You can walk by the sea, where the water is most darkest at night; the shooting stars are not there anymore. It used to be a place where all the stars could sing along to their favourite nursery rhyme, the night sky was their only playground, and they’re no longer there.
At night, she still hums the melody her mother used to sing, with empty bottles of bourbon being her only friends … and this is how this little girl with no name ends.
Once upon a time there was this lost ? that lost its way.
It didn’t know how to communicate with anyone, because it didn’t speak a language.
It didn’t know where to go, because it had never been to this place before.
It never really knew what it was. It was very close to the epitome of being lost.
It wandered its way through the big city.
Everyone was busy with everyday things like drinking alcohol, doing drugs, smoking and all the normal stuff people do.
It tried to ask for help, in the way it knew best. But it felt so strange.
Its surrounding was falling. The people gave it silence. Hope was all it needed. I guess everyone was too busy doing the normal stuff people do like prostitution, drugs and smoking.
The lost ? didn’t look like a human. It was very different. Maybe people were scared because it was a little different. I think all it needed was a little hope, it didn’t receive it.
To this day, it’s still lost, somewhere in the city. When the city is silent, you can hear it faintly. No one knows what it says, because it doesn’t speak a language.
During times of sleep, it’s the only silence my eyes have from the noise of the colour that hit my pupil.
Black is an achromatic colour that heals eyes that have been hurt by the saturations of life. They could never have time to rest, because they knew one day she will not be there if they went to sleep.
The colours would take order and dictate what the eyes could do. After all, their Master of Yellow in the sky could blind them with a stare.
They can’t afford that, otherwise, they would really lose her. They had no choice in the end; the eyes had to close with the chance that she would run if they would shut. It was a risk needed to fight the colours for another day.
Nothing can escape the endless pull of black. Even light screams when the void opens up, it engulfs all colour, leaving a pool of maximum darkness.
They paid a price; she made way and vanished through the colours without a sound. They realised they couldn’t fight this struggle.
It’s amazing how they survived for so long without sleep.
The Master of Yellows spoke a few words of solace, the enemy showing mercy in a world ruled by beautiful colour:
"You thought you lost your everything, did you realise that the pain she caused for you was for nothing? She wanted to get out and you held on because you thought you could never find anyone else … afraid to be lonely. All those times she got lost in the colour, you didn’t misplace her. She wanted to lose herself in the brightness of colour. Maybe she can now find what she has always been looking for after all these years she had been a prisoner of your heart.
As you go back to sleep in a sea of black, your thoughts will blur the words, ‘Did she ever replace me?’”