GHA
Well-Known Member
Passage written by my son few years ago, before diagnosis:
Laying my marble on walls which themselves are unlaid, I talk to this wind which moves along in my endless ways. Grass stirs up and then gets decayed; plains I shovel find no stream to engage their slit. I see delays and pauses in what burst and then culminate in this universe, soul rides across those hues and arches that are scraped and displaced as joints of our centuries disengage and disintegrate. Corners are filled with forgone moments, open air swirl in circles and remains tied to emptiness which exists. Attracting all those spaces around, what I connect, revolves and then devolves in me, while robes that behold plunge in despair
Through these robes I see a world stripped of its own truce. World which I have known, have been so unknown to me, feathers to fly that have often tilted away from my glides, roses to savor that have prickled me with their thorns. People I had known in moist of many wheezes, in streets of myriad loves have been so unknown to me. They are People I find hard to explain, people I find so distant to what I brim. Never have I ascended their horizons to concur stars that live and die in me. Never have I hummed on their tunes to bridge so many expressions that remain unexpressed in me.
Strangers they are to my inner deliberation, I have never been liberation to exteriors they unveil. In huddle of their voices, I have lingered my own without any purpose, but never have they been a voice that resounds a purpose to me. Never had I known what it is to be happiness in these corridors, never have I known what it is to be sufficed within these globules. Roads I have trekked haven?t journeyed me, trails I have followed haven?t carried me, in those invisible clouts I have been fragment disowned, an erosion unconsoled. Beneath the surface of my furbish, there is tainted isle for you to see, thickened in mist of sorrow there is remains a mountain of contradiction that is for no one to see, a sea of restless disposition that is for no depth to ceil. So I dip and rise in my own figment, as this nothingness ceases to be defined to disparage around me
Laying my marble on walls which themselves are unlaid, I talk to this wind which moves along in my endless ways. Grass stirs up and then gets decayed; plains I shovel find no stream to engage their slit. I see delays and pauses in what burst and then culminate in this universe, soul rides across those hues and arches that are scraped and displaced as joints of our centuries disengage and disintegrate. Corners are filled with forgone moments, open air swirl in circles and remains tied to emptiness which exists. Attracting all those spaces around, what I connect, revolves and then devolves in me, while robes that behold plunge in despair
Through these robes I see a world stripped of its own truce. World which I have known, have been so unknown to me, feathers to fly that have often tilted away from my glides, roses to savor that have prickled me with their thorns. People I had known in moist of many wheezes, in streets of myriad loves have been so unknown to me. They are People I find hard to explain, people I find so distant to what I brim. Never have I ascended their horizons to concur stars that live and die in me. Never have I hummed on their tunes to bridge so many expressions that remain unexpressed in me.
Strangers they are to my inner deliberation, I have never been liberation to exteriors they unveil. In huddle of their voices, I have lingered my own without any purpose, but never have they been a voice that resounds a purpose to me. Never had I known what it is to be happiness in these corridors, never have I known what it is to be sufficed within these globules. Roads I have trekked haven?t journeyed me, trails I have followed haven?t carried me, in those invisible clouts I have been fragment disowned, an erosion unconsoled. Beneath the surface of my furbish, there is tainted isle for you to see, thickened in mist of sorrow there is remains a mountain of contradiction that is for no one to see, a sea of restless disposition that is for no depth to ceil. So I dip and rise in my own figment, as this nothingness ceases to be defined to disparage around me
