The Bad Blogger.

Hello all my dear friends, 

                           I know...  lately I have been a very bad Blogger. I neglected a lot this corner I so love, yet you all are always on my mind and I miss you all very much!. In fact I wish to thank you all of those who remembered me and sent me a message, this meant a lot to me :)  

It is not that I have abandoned my corner, not at all... in fact, I have many ten's of post unpublished that wish I could post now, but they all need that little polish before shared to the world if you know what I mean!.  

The truth is that I have been very busy, priorities they call them... and never really found enough time or strength left to publish or even visit at least one of you my dear friends. Hopefully!, things will be back to normality soon, at least I hope so!. 

Well my dear listeners of Whispers I'm afraid I must say goodbye now, till then stay safe. 

Yours Hotei. 

    

Time.

It is the most abundant thing we have and yet we can never have enough of it. We are constantly loosing it but we never really realise. It is the most precious thing one can own but we never value it and we constantly waste it away... 

It was another morning, like many others I lived, like many have come and simply flew away without me noticing or caring that they went by. Yet this morning my mind, thoughts and eyes worked in harmony with each other. They played the most beautiful melody, yet it saddened the heart. I had that sunken feeling that something was to happen. I could not quite grasp the feeling even though I tried to understand. Then like many other times it slowly made sense, it slowly came to me, slowly the colours became more vivid, and yet again I was drawn into my secret world, the secret world of my mind. There where colours are bright there where sound does not exist, it exists only the sound of my thoughts, that from soft, hush murmurs become loud clear voices.

How I could have done this to me?... how did I let my self do this? I thought. Then I realised that every one must think the same way I do, this is one thing we all might agree on, we all have wasted time, we all have one time or another disrespected this precious gift. How many times we thought, promised, vowed and sworn that we would never ever again loose or waste it, yet every time we fail from keeping the solemn oath.

As I look out of my window and see the autumn wind steal the leaves from the tree branches with every blow carrying with it stories and with each blow it pushes summer away bringing new hopes for a new life, bringing new memories as this year will soon take its last breath. This is a familiar sight to me, sweet yet melancholic. It draws me back violently to reality, but I hold fragments from the world I been in. Then I look into myself searching for these fragments and see the promises I did not keep. How many times I told myself, "Never make promises you cant keep" yet every time I arrogantly break this rule. I arrogantly throw and waste this gift we call time.


Once more I make a promise, a promise I am giving my word on, a promise that I will do my utmost to keep. By next autumn before the last leave falls before winter makes itself feel....the words I gave the hopes I build and promises I made, I will keep... I know sacrifice must be done, I know it will not be easy, I know its a fight against time, but for this time I so profoundly now value its gift - I will keep what today I sworn my love.

Picture by Hotei 

 

Confessions of my mind.

It is not a matter of inspiration, nether fantasy, it just comes to me. I can't explain why or how, all I know is that my finger tips tingle. I call it tingling, fact is that I can't find any other word to make myself more clear. All I know is that there is only one way to stop this urge, and that is writing. I always loved writing, I did it since I was a child, it is something that perhaps is buried in me deeply. I look at it like when taking a picture, when you find the perfect shot you just click away to freeze the image, same is with writing it comes and goes, sometimes an idea can linger in my head for hours or days and many other times for just seconds.

Sometimes it scares me how my brain works, how I see the image I want to capture. Its not easy to comprehend, but I can try to explain. Its like being in a bubble, I see everything amplified and sharp, but yet I feel cut out from the rest of the world. Sometimes the colours are vibrant more then you could ever imagine, other times I'm overwhelmed by scents, sweet images laced with these sweet smells. This feeling comes to me sometimes for an instant... sometimes hours, and other times the image is unclear almost blurred and dull. So if you ask me what I am on about don't feel bad if I don't explain cause many times I can't understand it my self.

Keep on wanting more, I know she does, I know once she have tasted the forbidden fruit its hard to let go, she gets inebriated by its taste and liquor. I just need her to understand that not all I see is clear, and that many times words come to me obfuscated, almost like distorted, many times I can hear and listen, but simply can't processes a single word.

Many times I can read her shivering soul trough her teary eyes, perhaps after hurting her unintentionally, how stupid I feel. I should have many times said words I thought, that would have made things more easy to understand, not only for her but perhaps even for me... how stupid I feel...

On other occasions I speak a language she cant understand, but those words just slip out without me having control on them, its just like my body doesn't respond to my own commands. How stupid I feel when sometimes I realise that time has passed, slipped away without ever realising, how stupid I feel...

Picture by google images 

Storyteller.

The storyteller 

Whistle and sings, legends - myths 

Truth or fantasy? 

***

Lost in the mists of time,

Stories of people, who lived and still live,

Many forgotten, perhaps not real?,

Its seams just yesterday, yet time trickled away,

Around a fire of lost notes,

Gathering grounds for those who want to hear,

He reveals stories, secrets to you,

Like a child you're eager to hear.

Carried from mouth to mouth,

Like the air that is "breath"

Till its sets where fertile fantasy grows,

And wild like fire spreads.

He chants his tale to the world,

His new name narrates -

Adventures, of triumphant knights,

Who battled dark to free the light.

The storyteller travels from town to town,

From heart to heart,

He make you be who you want to be,

 Battle dragons and ride clouds.

Storyteller reveals stories unsaid, 

He let the air carry his name,

Not knowing were his words might set, 

Storyteller brings a tear to your eye.

He, vessel of life, 

Like a bottle that might hold-

Water, potion or poison,

It will bring or take life. 

                                                     Storyteller.   

What Is Your Story?

Picture by google images 

The one to save me.

                          This is my secret.... 

                                     This is my story... 

                                               This is how I was saved... 

I am not sure what was it, or I am not sure how this happened, but let me try find how and count the ways this happened.

It might have been her dark slightly shy eyes, her eyes.... yes! her eyes.. sharp! yet, slightly sunken.... the way she tugged at her hair twisting her long curls. The way she let a smile escape from her plump rosy lips, surrounded by white skin. Her smiles and giggles sound naive, yet they have a mysterious feel to them. The way she closes her eyes to dream, and many times to let a tear escape down her cheeks, shutting her eyelids as tight as she could, ignoring the word around, or perhaps wishing it away pretending no one was looking.... not even me.  Her big dreams, her fantasies... how incredible they sound, many times exaggerated..... just like tales narrated to amuse little kids, may be this is what keeps me young.

The way she fitted perfectly against my chest while she reached her hands around me, holding me tightly. The smell of her skin.... her cool feeling skin...sometimes she shivers with just the slight of a breeze...

Perhaps one last thing...the way she looked at me... like I could save her from all the bad things in the world, Like I was the only one left that could save her...

                   This is my secret...
                             This is my story...
                                       She was the one to save me...

Picture by tumblr.

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