Life — A Stage

There’s always that stage in life
when and where life, itself, is a stage.

Darling, do we live life on a stage?
Do we parade around the masquerades?
Do we perform as if we are there to show
The world of us, our “selves”, and all that we know?

Or do we live as if life is a stage?
In between heaven and hell, love and hate?
Existence is merely a few seconds in history
A few shreds of leaves written down in a biography.

What is our purpose, my dear,
Why are we here?
Is it of importance, or is time an illusion?
Are we happy, are we sure?
Well here’s some challenge to endure.
Are we miserable, or are we just bored?
Well here’s some advice, we’re all equally flawed.

We’re the same on the inside
Wearing different masks
Different human skeletons
Completing different tasks
The only walls between us
Would be the human ego
So how long can one ride along with this mainstream flow?

You want to blend in
But you were made to shine
You want to stand out
Yet you refuse to give it time
To put in the work
To plant the seeds
To grow the trees you breed

So take it slow, my dear
No fear
Life is but a stage
A stage on which you could choose to stand
Or a stage
You could simply
embrace.

MG

Lost Love

Perhaps one day we’ll meet again
In the sky or in the sea. 
And though it was water that washed us away
T’was the winds that blew you to me… 

 

I love you, but I couldn’t save you.

Only you can save yourself, darling, and what breaks my heart… is that you don’t even realise you’re drowning in a cesspool of melancholy.

I came to you and reached out, lent you a hand to pull you from all that. You tried, and climbed as far as you could until you got sucked in by the whirlpool all over again.

You tried to drag me down with you, but I refused to cave. I tried, but my feet were too rooted in the cemented foundations I’d spent years securing for myself. I tried to follow you, but the currents that flooded my path were too strong…I could only move forward, darling, but I handed you a rope to bring you with me.

We pulled and pulled, held on for as long as we could.

But neither of us could fight nature…

You got sucked in by your whirlwind, and I by the rushing rapids.

I’m sorry, my love. I tried. I know you did, too. But I’m sorry I couldn’t do what you needed me to be

 

Perhaps one day we’ll meet again
In the sky or in the sea. 
And though it was water that washed us away
T’was the winds that blew you to me…

MG

The Arguments We Forgot to Have

(Creative writing: 2016)

“If you’re sick of everyone falling for you, stop being so bloody perfect then,” she’d screamed at me, a sheer projection of inadequacy.

*      *     *     *    *

I know that feeling, I was young once, and I remember that insecurity. I also remember the effort it took to outgrow those feelings of “never being enough”, and while part of it was conscious effort to always improve every aspect that was within my control, the other part of it was simply to give it time…to give myself time.

I’d wanted to say that. I knew it was the right thing to say. But the right thing to say would’ve resulted in me having to explain myself, and then talk about my life story or how I came to that realization. It would be insulting, if anything, considering I’ve been writing about my journey for years. You don’t read it, then you ask me questions I’ve already answered countless times, in multiple ways.

Instead, you come at me with these projections and I’m shielded by my own experiences…ones I was never shy about, ones I’ve blasted expressively for years.

Calling me perfect, as if that’s not offensive. As if I’d had everything handed to me and never had to work a day in my life. As if…

Sure, you have the right to feel what you want to feel. You have to express whatever you want.

I also have the right to simply say “Ok, glad you got that out your system now. Was I supposed to do something about it?”

No, darling. I’m not.

It’s that same damn thing you do, every single time you want me to tell you how I feel, knowing that you’re not going to do anything about it. Well, I’m not either. And if the best action is inaction to let things fall into place, then so be it. But I’m not playing your games and I’m not running circles chasing typhoons.

And no, I’m not walking away. What from, anyway? A shadow? A fragment of a memory? An unfinished reality that was never made?

No, darling. Running is your thing, and fighting is mine.

It’s what we do. I’ve accepted that, over time. It’s taken long enough.

I still miss you, but I can’t hold onto what never existed, darling. Much as you wanted to exist, you chose not to, and I suppose that’s what hurts the most…is that at the end of the day, much as you wanted to choose me…you couldn’t. You chose…you

That’s okay, though. I’ve learned to live without you; it’s you who has to live with you.

And for your sake, I sincerely hope you find yourself to be as enjoyable as I found you…If anything…I hope you find you.

I hope you let yourself be found.

Again.

I love you, always.

MG

Nothing Like You

One day, our paths will cross again
One day, our worlds will merge
Day after day
Readying the way
Until the stars emerge

From behind the clouds
That sheltered you in the crowd
You hid from the spotlight —
sunlight and moonlight

But our journey is the same
Our destination is nigh
I took a train
And you, the night flight

We took a different route
Leading to the same airport
A transition point is where we met
Yet “Hello” and “goodbye” was all you sought

I remember you, my love
But the memories weren’t enough
I had to pave a way to ready
Myself for thee

So one day, my dearest,
We shall meet again
In the forest or a desert
City streets or beach
Mountain peaks, ocean deeps
Rooftops atop old bookshops

One day, you and I will meet again
But maybe not today.

 

And when we meet again my dear
She will be nothing like you…

 

I fear.

 

MG

Love. More of It.

Love…

If chasing sunshine has taught me one thing, it’s that opening your curtains means you can just let it come.
(Generally, open curtains means a tidy room first…)

*     *    *    *    *

My experience of love is one that can be expressed on so many different levels.

There is the love of the flesh, the appreciation of the physical world around us. A love of a moment, an enjoyment of a platform created by our material world. It is a fickle love, like the flicker of a sun as it bounces off a mirror, a glimpse of your smile as you try to hide behind your smirk. That blue flash of flame just before it turns orange. It is love.

There is a love of the heart, the emotional resonance of love’s existence. A love of a person, to dwell in the company of a friend, a relative, a lover, even a stranger who shares the experience of “youness” in that moment. It is a lingering love that stays, like the love of a friend who makes you laugh, the love of a relative who makes you comfortable, the love of a lover whose presence warms you. It is love.

There is a love of the mind, the mental and sentimental spark of both brain and body. A love of a conversation, a concept, an idea. It is a love that revels in whoever or whatever embodies that expression. It is a temperamental love, impulsive and vibrating at a whole different frequency. It is an intangible love, its permanence  encompassed by us. Much like the unformed winds that can rustle up leaves or up-root a tree, it is a love that is made whole in itself.

Finally, there is a love of the soul, the universe that is both within and around us. The universe of which we are both creators as well as inhabitants. Our soul is the expression of the metaphysical world reflected by our physical one. It is a love in itself, a love that consumes itself while it reflects. It is like the sun, burning at high frequencies and eating itself while regenerating the light to reflect onto the moon. It is a love that is self-reliant, self-sufficient, yet self-destructive. It is a love that provides to all and gains only from self-regeneration. It is a love that regenerates, it does not disintegrate.

Love.

I love you, so very much right now, and I’m sure you feel it, too.

MG