The Monkey Mind

                                                  In the early morn, at a crowded underground train station, a family of three had found refuge. The ponderous environment coalesced the ancient air which smelled musty, with that of the neoteric tenant, the human smell that wafted from unwashed bodies. The poor light had become a playground where fleeting shadows played hide and seek, with the dim lamps dispersed unevenly on various corners, uninhabited as if awaiting for grim reapers to walk out. " Evermore " *whisper* Under a flickering light... ...foreheads gently met each other, small belonging to a pitifully crying child, and, broader wrinkled in grim worry, to a middle-aged man whom she desperately clung to.  Her small clumsy arms barely encircled his burly neck, yet they refused to let go, as her teary voice incessant with desperation, uttered shiveringly "V ater, geh nicht, Bitte-Bitte-Bitte"   Yet, her squeaky voice weakened to a bare whisper, and unto silenc

"I am not my own, how can I be yours..." she whispered intimately with a voice soft, emphasizing in a tone gentle, but punched hard in its truth,  it hurt, hurts still, like hell.  Even after all these days, weeks, months, and years...                                                                                                                                                                                               (pc: İclal Doğru:https://pin.it/2EOlRZV) At that moment, for a second, my heart stopped... And for another one more, my mind went blank... and, all, I could do was to hold on, to my sanity from getting lost, that shattered into pieces of myself, by those words.  My searching eyes found hers, hers that was clear brown that shined with a determined conviction of what she truly meant. Those eyes, they pierced my soul, sundered my mind, broke my heart apart, like never before Her message was clear, for her eyes spoke volumes and volumes' unlike any people I

No Tomorrow. Promise solemn rang true to my ears...,   without accompanying sound ,  with  the heaviness of its solemnity reverberating from body to soul and soul to the body, as along trembled simultaneous, the heart's temerity, I felt... the unwilling liberation of the soul and unbinding of bodily chains, like never before, as the spirit wavered, in-between the light and dark; the purgatory ...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                (PC:ZeinaH: Pinterest) Yet that liberation demanded a price, so did the unbinding, yet unready I to pay, unready I to yield,  I tried, how I tried, but temptation overtook my conscience, I failed, I gave in, so I did; pay and yield for a moment of liberation, a second of unbinding, the shame of ecstasy; material desires offered... I grabbe

Absence. It exists. Lurking in-between thoughts and actions, anchored under the shadow of moments time passes on, it oscillates in each breath. Breathing; in possibilities, out disappointments; what could have been and what could not.                                                                                                                                                                 (PC:scott c.) Unstoppable.  Like it's nothing, it intrudes. It rebels, it declares guerilla war against the might of structural mundanity, the ordinary. That ordinary which we resist not, accept yet unwillingly, with a sense of inevitable helplessness. Yet, the feeling of sheer absence even inundates the inexorable inevitability. Escape. Desperation burns with each ticking of the clock, we cannot bottle it up inside our self. So, we search, and as we search, for our true self, which in the past was sidelined for the sake of a future which promised "milk and honey", we are made aware o

 The world we perceive, understand, and interact with, has as many interpretations and their understanding as to the people who live on the planet. We see, hear, smell, and feel the fabric of reality around and within us through our dynamic senses. Yet perceiving and interpreting reality into a coherent and cohesive understanding is difficult but not impossible. As such, what we know or believe we know and its further interpretation and communication require discipline, the disciple of writing.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 (PC: Le Parche Edizioni) Writing. It means bringing together chaotic thoughts into a harmonious order, an order whose practice is at first excruciating. It represents being passive in a physical space, letting the mind discover and find the suitable headspace

The Ideal Light "Like a moth drawn to the flame, we gravitate towards the light..."                                                                                              (PC:  https://www.pinterest.com/pin/436356651378415164/) Why do we do what we do ? Why do we admire beauty ? And in that sense what is beautiful ?   With light, we see the world, its richness witnessed by a spirit of naive wonder untainted by desires. Desires are natural to the majority of humans yet they envoke possessiveness which prevents the admirer to enjoy the moment. Thus, it is said "to desire is to suffer"  And suffering starts and continues when:  "We want what we can never have" and "even if we think we do, time disillusion us of our folly..." Besides the basics that cater to our survival, there are things that we need, to reaffirm our reason for existence. It is the instinct of living to evolve; to pass the legacy that we have inherited and that which we have a

 "...  happiness is the greatest desire humanity has craved to experience .."  An ornithologist may spend days, weeks, and months in a  mosquito-infested humid swamp just to capture a glance of an exotic avian. As such, luck plays a major role defined by his or her redeeming personal qualities and environmental viability that invites or prevents the entry from the much sought avian, leading to the momentous happiness or disappointment/depression for the ornithologist. As no man, woman or living beings are the same, the vocation such as ornithologists, for many is highly undesirable. Yet for a few, such professions is a chance in a lifetime, to understand a niche of the world, just waiting to be discovered. Like any experience, one has so imagined or been through, happiness is one that is the most unforgettably subjective.                                                                                                          (PC:https://www.pinterest.com/pin/14636705662927879