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My weary journey

Updated on March 2, 2013
Source

On hilltop high

A traveller

In rags

With an empty bag on a stick

Bound straight

To the cliff

Shortwinded

Bleeding,

Sweating ,

Spent,

Clustered,

Jet-lagged ,

Tagged

Like Lorca taken out to shot

In a lush field of olive trees.

Between Viznar and Alfacar,

The devil’s long thin nailed fingers

Scratched the beautiful world.



How lonely up here

This tiny loft

This barren remote toft

He said in a sorrowful tone,

His head hardly up,

But his eyes as wide as two farmer’s strides

With a grief that could milk a cow

Staring at the fog,

Silence,

The never-ending emptiness.

How dreadful up here

He returned to his soliloquy

This sudden full-stop

This weary journey

Certainly not worth the hype,

The guts,

The penny.

I've seen the worst,

The woes,the horrible

But this moment must be the unbearable,

I am stuck

Pushed

Dashed

Should I sit embracing my knees,

Regurgitating the stories of the mythical beasts slain with my bare fists

And all the regrets as leaves drifting into the gutter

Washed by the sweeping rains?

Should I take an other step forward

And dance on the fine line of perdition's edge?

Is it gainful

Worth

Trying

Dying

As a last ditch-attempt

To spread wings and set to the breeze?

No,This is a dangerous acrobatic

As my Mom told me once

When I tried to jump through the window as Batman

I am not born by this talent,

To venture everything in one gulp

In one step,in one thud.

What should I do then?

I am so tired,

Unable to make it go

Enlighten me !

The ghost of the lost flying ship!

Is there

A trick to turn back the clock

To the jumping-off point?

A magic wand to turn my life to the womb

And my knowledge to zero gain?

I am in a tight corner

Exactly,

Half step out of sanity

No connection with the rest of the herd.

Like a hawk on a pole

With wings clipped

Under the shedding light

Frozen

No going back from the divide could help nor

Going forward clapping what it s left of it

Could bring it back to the sky ,

It's a dead horse case

Closed,

Useless to beat

Useless to pump a new blood into the dried-up veins

It's tough to kiss the ashes

And teach during the nocturnal survilliance

The best way to to cook fall-off-the-bone baby-back ribs

Tougher it is to spill all my heart ,thoughts,scars like a dying guru

-Who has no life for one more day to stand -

On a Rosseta stone

And leave the stage for the rain to splash ballet.

As a child I was taught

All the rivers must run down to the ocean

No matter how long it takes

And all the birds must return to their nests

No matter how far off they are

But myself no longer recall the steps taken

The bitter battles

I fought

The drilling holes

Where I fell and leaped out like a deaf frog successfully

But alas! as a lame I lived a life afterwards

The walls

Where I used to perch within

And ate my daily bread

Under a leaking roof above

Tumbled down by wicked sharp winds.

The crunching tires

O’ the crunching tires

On the gravel path to the whirlpool of beauty

Much grace

Much pain

deflated.

This journey certainly

Not worth the hype,

The guts,

The penny

I must admit

Today ,not my day

Never has been

The day

The compass

The strength

The womb of light.

working

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