Tears submerged in an ocean of silence, after so many years, become the mute messengers of an undeclared love; an inaudible spirit searching to appease the unreachable sadness in the depth of our eyes.
The subject of love has sunk itself into the recesses of quietude; we know the words but lack the experience behind them, so our actions contradict our claims and beliefs. We were blessed by the penetrating light of infinity, yet victimized by an unfortunate misynchronization; our hearts are simply asking us to care and nurture, but our abdomens have accumulated too much rage to follow suit.
For all the conceivable injustices that mankind has brought before me, am I a fool for believing in love and the goodness of humanity? Or perhaps I was predestined to roam amid the voiceless vicissitudes of a mutually shared illusion…
My end started at the beginning, where providence picked its favorites in the premorse of a living contradiction – influenced by many but defined by none, I exemplify the perfect example of non-perfection. As such, my soul mourns the recollection of the moment I laid immersed in the blood of my predecessors; despairingly unable to assuage the demons that have plagued us since birth. Though the seasons have shifted, I suffocate at the horizon of my many weaknesses, unable to detoxicate my psyche because I was once blessed by the arcana of an infinite love. And so today I remain prudent with my words, but articulate in my actions.
My only remedy in the scheme of loving you is taciturnity – do not search for understanding in the gravity of my words, nor in the cadence of my phrases. The nonuse of words is a conscious choice; my devotion is unexpressed and inexpressible, my adoration is undescribed and indescribable. Too often were my intentions confiscated by this incommunicable silence, insulated in the midst of an urge to live the most profound of all truths. If life was designed to acknowledge the certitude of impermanence, then let death reveal itself so that I can embrace quietus, and entrust you with my book of life as a bona fide testament of my deepest proclamations.
I suppose that I am silently apologizing for my vocal frugality, or better yet, my verbal abstinence. Still my dreams yearn for your affection as if we were the only remaining hopeless romantics – even the slightest slumber summons the engram of your visage, undisguised. My anatomy, calm and unmoving, ardently awaits the magnetic melody of your voice; the sweet scent of your aroma paralyzes the gentle rhythm of my respirations. We are far in distance, close in heart, but when I arise you reluctantly vanish along a vestigial path, as if secrecy was your only refuge. Here I’ve been living my life to fulfill every promise I’ve ever made, and there you stood falsely assuming that my love had an expiration date. I could very well be an impatient optimist stretching out my hands in vain, even if allowing you to set foot in my life was the most beautiful mistake I had ever made. Agonizingly perplexed – are my actions consequential or will the paladin of my cause vanish like frost under the morning sun? They say a person cannot handle affection if they don’t know how to give it – an enigma – yet vulnerability is an unspoken love, longing to immortalize itself in the devoted embrace of a true admirer.
I am thus loving in silence. Only herein, do I find the courage to live in a hopeless world and look at fate unflinchingly in the eye; to waken our slumbering consciousness and combat the mental and spiritual pollution that surrounds the commercialized status quo of our world. It is under this provision that each and every elegiac memory forever demarcates the moral causation of my travails, where an instinctive impatience accentuates my movements and disambiguates the cornerstone of my ethos – like a global orphan strangulated by the solitude of his mental asylum, but set free by a singular vision in the supreme experience of life.
– Lyrical Zen
January 2012 / Accra, Ghana, West Africa.
