escape

I understand the reason of why you left and it was not fit for me to try to escape this world.

I was off to a bad start I know that, but the planet is too far ahead of me now and I feel like I’m falling behind with every second that ticks by.

I understand the reason though, why you would want to leave this planet. It was hard for you, but maybe you just needed a push in the right direction, but you kept your problems to yourself. How was anyone supposed to know?

You told me it was the right thing to do, to escape this planet, but I was vain, I didn’t want you to go. I was just thinking about myself and now I’m off to a bad start, life has passed me by.

floating away

She could feel you on your skin, it was the last thing she ever felt from you.

Words are running out and in the end she had nothing left to say.

She whispered to herself, “I regret the time we had together.”

She wanted to hold you for one more time, so she could feel you for the last time. Slowly, she started to drift away from you and drifting further away was all she did.

You had become so used to seeing her, that permanent scar reminding you, that lasting mark of her. It’s hidden somewhere deep, in a place they used to call your heart.

She could feel you on your skin; it was the last thing she ever felt from you.

You lost it when it found you; from the very start she laid her eyes on you.

You whispered to yourself, “I feel you when I’m alone … with you it felt like home.”

summer morning

Wake up and feel the air, the fresh wind and the Sun’s glare, beside you as your loved one is there.

Summer morning, beautiful warm air, roll over and feel her, she is right there. Run your fingers through her hair, close her eyes as you notice how her mouth is smiling, you take a deep breath as you sit right there.

She feels like home, just like your outside in the summer morning dew. Touch her skin; you notice how it’s so fair. Write a song for her, she belongs with you right there. As time stands still she breathes in your name, touch her, as she sits right there.

Summer night breeze, cool as it can be, stars out so bright and you notice how she isn’t there. You dream about her and you ran your fingers through her hair. Her eyes were closed and her mouth smiling. Was she real? Was she ever really there?

In this summer night, you cling to her, although, you never really knew her. You missed that feeling, although you have never really met her. You felt so close; you swear that you could feel her. You swear that you have seen her, held her hands, walking amongst the cool summer night air.

Summer morning, wake up and feel the warm air.

Wake up. She is not there.

midnight winter

The moon shines its glaze upon all of your feelings and the stars set their mind to fly away.

Crawling and finding a way to crash into all these feelings you have, the whirlwind motion and sickness in trying to have the things you love.

Midnight comes and I don’t see all the things you see. There are hidden voices behind this movement, the things you say just crawl to me anyway.

The words that you send to me are too small for me to feel anything. I’m rolling along, in this night, I fear nothing.

I’m a person, not that significant, am I too small to feel anything? If I am hiding, will you come out in this cold to find me?

This midnight winter, I am still sitting here. Not sure of what I am waiting for, but it feels right under the Moon tonight.

Walking through this silent wind, lying right here, your eyes are my stars tonight and I’m not going anywhere fast.

I am keeping this moment hidden from the voices because it is the only time I get to stare at you.

painted faces (part 2)

(Read Part 1 HERE)

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

painted faces (part 1)

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

the colour of innocence

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.

the final notice

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?

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.

the hero effect

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.

farewell: the act of departing

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.