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Monday, April 28, 2008

Chp 169. Hurt is Love

Dedicated to all the broken-hearted, the sore break-ups, the single malt of coffee, the ineffective sleeping pills, the long harsh nights, the placebo substitutes, the numerous unanswered calls, the poetic whisky lullaby, and all the painful memories impossible to forget. Remember, you are not Alone.


A moment of doubt,
A moment of truth,
Trouble in Paradise,
T’is but the end of a sweet Journey.

Two candles no longer burn,
Two seasons no longer merge,
Two souls no longer entwine,
One and one, on separate Paths.

Fire feels so cold,
Passion feels so numb,
Laughter feels so distant,
Love is hurt, Hurt is love.

Redemption of a charmless appeal,
Compunction of myriad time wasted,
Salvation of a spirit lost in oblivion,
Execution of a human soul, over and over again.

All fused into One.

Forever lost in Eternity.

The road ahead, is murky and dark.
My strength is gone, my Will debilitated.
Yet a single falter, only means my own Knell.
Move on... move on... move on.

Time flies by so slowly, so dizzily,
Worsened even further, by images in my head.
Ugly images, distorted images,
Hurling me into a phantasmagorical reality.

Love is free, and yet it has a price.
The price of one’s sanity, grinded to bits.
The price of one’s optimism, mashed to pieces.
The price of one’s vivacity, blown to smithereens.

Now the nightingale sings so coarse,
The sunrise looks so gray,
The red rose smells so fetid,
The honey tastes so bland.

Forsaken by love, abandoned by trust,
Oh hands of fate, humour me.
Disclose to me, thy satirical deviltry,
So that I may endure, this eternal Purgatory.

In the end, love screweth us all.
Commitments and Promises, all uttered in vain.
The Oracle doth deceive,
The happily-forever doth delude.

Show me a couple, madly in Love,
And I’ll show you five, wallowing in misery.
Show me chaste, I’ll show you debauchery.
Show me trust, I’ll show you betrayal.

Thimna ni.
Chatuan lunglen.
Pialrâl chakawm.
Biahthu thamral.

Red turns to sepia, Sepia turns to brown,
Brown turns to gray, Gray turns to black.
T’is a tragicomedy, how Black turns to Red again,
But oh, such a different shade of Red!

The wheels of time, churn with cruelty.
Déjà vu of the Past, with the same old Pain.
It’s a wicked cycle, these affairs of the Heart.
It shows no mercy, nor compassion, nor remorse.

Love seems so obscure now, like a forgotten Myth,
Tucked away firmly, beneath the Fountain of youth,
Next to the Elixir of life, on that crystal-clear Brook,
Flowing without haste, at a surreal Kingdom yonder.

There amidst the valley so lush and green,
Guarded fiercely by dark-angels and dark-seraphs,
The nefarious Magi inflicts his Curse on Love,
And sends it out again, to ensnare innocent victims.

Love has hurt us all, in unspeakable ways,
Torturing our minds, in unimaginable manner,
Yet that is the greatest irony of Love,
For there can be no Love, if there is no Pain.

Move on, if you stumble and fall,
For the World is full of people like You.
And when the Saints do come out marching,
The Fallen shall inherit the Earth.

** This is especially for you, cousin. Dry your tears.

** Commenting is disabled for this post. Sorry.