The Man Who Is Too Far Ahead

In the end our hopes are just specks of dust flung around by that wind of change we never wanted and we never asked for. My eyes always ahead, my mind always that step ahead. The step never made, never completed, never slammed on the shaky ground. It never happened and maybe never will. My eyes forgot to look back and sit with the many who suffer in their present. Am I escaping? Am I rushing to find out the different I or we want to make? Will my head spin and turn backwards like Tiresias? The doom of the future I want to avoid is the doom of a past I cannot escape. Running, rushing, making that last attempt to hide. Somewhere. Even if it is shouting the last promise of hope, the last offer of redemption from an unopened box, from cryptic speculation, from things that may and probably don't exist.
Should I stop hoping? Do I need to slow down with the pack and hum the blue notes of surrender? I know their path will lead me off the cliff. And what do I offer instead? Flying away perhaps. Or the illusion of flying by slowing down my steps, pretending to walk forward, and never step backwards, a perpetual moonwalk where I would be stuck in an oblivious lull. Oblivious to the care I can give or I will receive, when old, when crazy, when what mattered to you no longer exists, just like those specks of dust, blown away by a wind that is strong and pungent. It hits my face hard under a clear sunny sky. The subliminal message of a life shorter than the message you want to tell. Shorter than the change you and I will see. But I may warn you and scare for no reason. You don't look at the tomorrow I want to live in. It does not exist. It is a dream. And when morning comes I will be gone like dreams melting in the light of day...

The Men and Women who wait for the Dreamer and the Learner

Have you seen the man who dreams? Was it always there? Or did he move past the real cars and the concrete walls, worn out by fatigue? He learnt it the hard way. He paid his dues and was long forgotten. Under duress. Under hatred. Somewhere he did not belong. Many before him walked by, either suffering or forgetting what they believed in. Does this mean our faith shakes under the slightest tremble of the ground? Do our ideals vanish into a thin air until they can no longer be felt, heard or even tasted? And still I see the man who dreams stopping by windows onto a world he cannot face or recognise. His face is contorted into a twisted smile, a content grin, a stoic laughter at his destiny now obscured by forces he cannot grasp. He may stand there forever, maybe until all walls crumble down, maybe until all cars are gone, him alone with the fine dust that surrounds us all.

Have you seen the man who learns? Did you see his head open like a chest, his brains reassemble? Or did we imagine it all behind the comfortable barriers of our mind, our habits, our views and principle that hope a day the same as yesterday, the same as tomorrow. Waiting here, killing time, for changes never to occur until the pressure is too much even for the fragile cosmos we live in. And we learn change will hit us in a blink of an eye, blind us with all its mighty force, and ultimate dry up the thoughts we so desperately held onto. For they are not ever lasting, nothing is, but we live forever in our multiple facets, our fragmented personalities, our unframed behaviours. The ones we hardly cope with and constantly distance ourselves from. The ones that make us human with all the irrationality and absurdity they bring to us. Acceptance will deliver us from evil.

Have you seen me at all? I think I miss you in the fog thickening by the minute. Is that shadow you or is the light tricking me? It haunts me day and night that I will never truly see it all. Just a game of shadows and kaleidoscopian colours.