like a warrior

This is her, armed to the teeth, focused and determined. This is her, the warrior. Resilient, motionless up until the very last moment. She holds her position, stands like a statue, will not move an inch, no sound, no wind can distract her. The fight is that which you never could fight. She fights for what you never even realized. For the things you walked by. Take a look. Take a good look. She is flawless in her spirit. She is hardened like stone on the outside, she is every fibre ready to jump, every muscle pulled tight to attack. The fire in her eyes is dim, barely visible, the hair is pulled back, orderly, tight. The marks under her eyes stop the sun. Stops the sun in its tracks. Atop a cliff she stands. Resolute she asks for no permission, she negotiates with no-one. 

We need a warrior, we need her badly. Strayed souls distract us, make us believe that there is no other way but through cheats and lies. The world is muddled and our place in it covered in dense fog. Step to the right and you have fallen off the track. Step to the left and you are trapped by marshlands. We take the course, the path that has been paved, the crooked and broken path that leads to a certain and imminent demise. All along she stands atop that cliff, all along we take no notice. We carefully choose our fights, the more strenuous ones do not make the list. Those forced on us are also weeded out, nipped in the bud, never fully fought. This is no baptism of fire. Leaving a fight unfought leaves the soul unable to mature. Leaves the heart heavy from the missed glory of a battle won, from the missed glory of a battle lost.  

These are the things you must fight. Here is your list. You may choose to arm, you most probably will sit back and wait for this warrior angel to descend and fight your fights for you. These are the things you must fight. You must fight the untrue heart. You must fight those who perceive wrongly, those who cannot find compassion. There is a long line of those who will need to be fought because they are not humble, because they boast inappropriately. Because they forge alliances with the wicked, twist their tongues to slur untruthts. Fight those who judge, fight them till your last breath. Fight those who measure your worth to theirs. You must take every opportunity to fight those who shut their windows and doors to those in need. Firstly, you must fight the hearts that are hardened.

She is ready. With every second past, in a tense craze, assuming the ever looming, the inevitable position. Already launching an attack in her mind. This warrior is no ordinary warrior. This warrior is the saviour of our souls. Her lean legs stand firm, her eyes fixed far ahead on the intangible evil she will have to meet. Meet for us. That she will gladly destroy for us. This warrior is in you, this warrior is you. You are absolute in your thoughts for others. You must be absolute in your quest for the truth. You must fight your inner complacency to arrive at forgiveness. Then you must forgive. You must tighten your muscles, ready your mind, harness the silence around you. Soon it will be your turn. Soon you will have to fight. Then all eyes will look towards you as you shine in the setting sun’s glowing golden yellow hue. They will know that this is no ordinary warrior. They will know that you have come to conquer that which has been lost a long, long time ago. You must fight. These are your days. Your days to live like a warrior. To fight like a warrior.

Queen of Elba

You talked of that barren land. Those sights were never sore to your weary eyes. You had seen what most could never dream of. You have walked those paths, paved with once molten now frozen rocks. You climbed to the highest point, the fog covered the hills and valleys. You could only see two colours: black and grey. Mostly it was cold, the sun never warmed these lands. The trees were banished, the hills erupted with burning rocks, life was wrapped in a sulphuric haze of toxic yellow. Everyone escaped in time, before the last standing bush succumbed to such hostility. But it was my home is what you cry to me. These are the words you uncontrollably shout into my ears. Sobbing, vehemently resisting you whimper after much force is exerted on your fragile limbs to calm the ecstasy. But it was my home. My home.
 

These rivers seem powerless to your force. The sky unmoved by your fury. With the words “I command” you start each sentence. Still. There is nobody to hear, the echo of your words amplify, ring fiercely loud, boast as ambassadors to their keeper, chasing unwanted subjects deep under ground. They are just words, empty, hollow, weak words. The powers you once had have been stripped, there is nobody on this island but you. Not another soul. Your heavy eyes are lifted, if there was danger I would seek shelter. Your heavy eyes are lifted and with a roaring thunder you charge. Closer and faster to where you hear your echoes loudest. The cliff stops you, NO, you let out a thundering cry, a shout so resonant that it cracks the boulders unable to move. Then furious you gather your forces, men of armour, mirages in a sweltering cold, patches of clouds cover the exact number of your army. The task is to find and kill, to find and maim, to find and eradicate those who do not obey. On your lead they all follow, hundreds of minions, valiant men of loyalty, subjects to be crushed. The lands shake as the sea of your army pass by. Fear rides alongside, mouth foaming fury sits beside, devilish eyes navigate through rocks, black sands, dried riverbeds.

I have seen your soul. Through those eyes the deep and profound sadness. You are banished, stripped of your men. You are banished, no longer ruler of anyone, of any land. This is what has been done, plotted against you, stabbed in the back, banished for good to this island of barrenness. You still roam but no longer charge. The men have vanished, the cold winds blow through your cloak. Suddenly everything lost colour. The trees died, the blue in the sky turned grey, the green hills were taken over by sand that turned vicious, menacing black. The colour of death, the colour of your demise. Now you rule these waterless lands, these hills which lose rocks, these pastures of quicksand, these shores of murky, dense, blackness. You rule over nobody. The deep, heartbreaking sadness in you has turned everything hard, brittle, unable to melt. In moments of weakness you remember, then in fury you destroy.

Sounds from far away greet me as I step foot on your island. Your hair has grown, your cloak dirty from the endless roaming. The winds have eaten away at you, pale skin that never found the sun. Slowly you come closer. I bow. This boat is for you, for you to leave. Your voice has not lost its power, your eyes burning without me meeting them. You can crown me the queen of Elba. I’m never coming home. Your majesty, this boat is for you. You can leave. The silence gives rise to angst, I look up. You are gone, vanished. Your steps light, your sound inaudible. The winds cover you, the howling winds clear the traces of your salty scent. These lands now hold you, these barren lands have taken your soul. I now understand that you are never coming home.

Towards The Sun

In this state of superfluous bliss there is only one way to reach the water. The humming, constant, the ever changing water. The one that silently guides, teaches, shows a better version of the self when all other facets have run dry. I trace my steps, careful to stay in line with the banks of the river. To follow its curves and currents towards all that which is unknown. In this state of unsure measures the steps become light, much lighter than in times of certainty. Resting for a while then gazing far ahead, accepting what is to come, seeing for the first time what has been unseen for an immeasurable time. On the surface of the water the ice is stirring. Uneasy the state of these blocks, unsure when they must melt or sink. Then they all are pulled into the unending depths of the powerful, spring hungry river. This is unseen by anyone.

These things you sing to me, I lose sight of. How wonderful those days were, how hopeful amidst the hopeless trap of winter. The icicles leaving their marks on the trees outside. The frozen landscape draped in a winter hue, blue and grey. The hills hostile, the sky menacing, the creatures all hidden or bad mannered from the tiresome fight for existence. Still, you held my hand and guided me to the place you say is the same in sun, same in ice. Shielded from the unforgiving winds of the north I stood to watch the magnificent view below. This is where the heart stops. This here, you said, is where it all ends. The silence like a concrete block crushed our lungs, I was left speechless. In this frozen world, in this silent, frost ridden empire, this motionless landscape all but one of your words stayed with me. You said it was this way towards the sun. The flickering light shined through the withered branches. It almost blinded me. I was unsure of the path, missed the water and seemed to be terrified of the timeless consequence of winter. An imprint, a moment captured, endless slumber until spring stirs. You had a glint in your eyes, you enjoyed this cool mannered world. I slowly started seeing what you had wanted to show me. We set off, in silence, to reach the place where we could finally see the sun. 

This place we come back to, this present that we engulf our lives in is neither calm nor hectic. The answers are gathered in a neat and orderly fashion for each query that may arise. There are things we may want and will be able to have. There are things we want and will never have. There are things we never want and will learn to accept. You accept me and in turn, I accept you. Winter accepts its inevitable demise to spring. Spring, the coy and uncourteous, never realising the responsibility that lies in defeating winter. Abundant self confidence, almost beyond tolerable arrogance. Spring descends and we are all lured into its childishly free, carelessly loving tricks, spectacles of blossoms, ridiculous scents, amazing sights. Winter leaves, saddened and bitter, once again hardened by the maltreatment and adamant in returning with a vengeance. Be kind, all of you, be kind to winter. Marvel at its sights, at its doing. Wish for the silence to linger, for life to halt its business a little longer. Be in no hurry to see the sun, be in no hurry to want the cold to go.

In the end it is just me and you, resting our hearts on the river’s bank. We missed the great reprise, almost missed the day that looked like all other days of winter. You remind me. You remind me why it is that we must slow with the river in the cold, why it is most rewarding to be not seen when paraded. There is a secret in how we see the days in each season. The light is somehow kinder now. The illusion is a part of you, it will always be a part of me. I teach you to love the river, love it like I do. You teach me to love winter, to love it like you do. In this frost covered jungle, Amazonian whites and Saharan blues greet us each day. We are not surprised, never caught off guard. We let the winds lift the heavy burden from our hearts, then weightless we hope there is just enough time to reach the sun. We hurry, in every season, we hurry towards the sun. I wait for you, like all other times, I wait for you to take my hand and lead me strongly towards the sun.

How these hearts they stop

It seems easy for you. The pace of life, the phases that pass through. Understanding the knots and how we must tangle then untangle. I envy the ease with which you talk of your aspirations, the things that you have learnt to naturally desire. You say that you have thought it through and now know, most certainly know what you want. We sit in silence. I turn to the wall and wish I had it figured out like you. The silence is not broken for a long time. Uncomfortable. Then I sigh a desperate sigh.

You know the winter winds one day will settle down.

You know the talk of spring will push us off the ground.

It was never clearly spoken, just assumed. These things do not need to be taught, they are absolute. Measures by which we live our lives, rights and wrongs, the essence which drips through our mother’s milk drop by drop to fill the core of the soul. These things that make up the path that we must follow. Unquestioning some stand in line whilst others who do not know how or cannot, yearn. Some do not want and frown at everyone who tries to steer them towards the rights they believe to be true. Do. Not. Ever. Impose your beliefs on me. Do. Not. Ever. I become a virtual tagger and my sentences like golden quotes appear on every street corner that you pass. I am enclosed in frames, you were never free. 

These things I must quickly learn. The hurt is too deep, the parts that die with everyone who leaves cripple the soul. Soon I will be unable to stand, soon I will wither away with the last of them. These days are unbearable to me, even just the thought. Should I blame those who never showed me how it really would be? Stay in this cocoon, stay sheltered from the winds and the rain, never see the snow, never climb to see the sun rise or set. I am not happy knowing, I am devastated if I learn that I was not taught or told. Here lies the responsibility, the unending task of those who decide to become responsible. Teach them not just how it naturally occurs, but also how these choices can be made to better or worsen. To ruin or just be. One day we will all be left standing by an open grave.

There are some things so hard I wish they wouldn’t bruise.

Everyone that you loved you will one day you will lose.

When these temporary times are up, we must sum up the things done right or wrong and take leave. I have learnt to love. I have learnt to accept. I have learnt that I am responsible for all things that I create. I have learnt that I am the maker of my own magical potions. Some days I succeed at being a sorcerer. This here is what I have conjured, it may constitute some kind of cure. But then you weep. Weep endlessly because all is not how you envisioned it would be. You were taught different. You were taught there is no end and now the gaping hole inside you is killing off the parts still alive. This is how disappointed must feel like. This is how living must be like.

These wonderful hearts stopped. With no warning at all. Now you are alone, the pain will outlive your memories. You fell to your knees just as they slowly took their grace. A busted thief is what you are. Not to be trusted, not to be cared for. You took the last minutes and hold them ransom, never letting anyone else have them. Never letting anyone else into that secret pact. I was never taught to know death. I cannot learn now how to be with you. The tears pull me closer, the mutilated soul holds me captive and I grieve with you. Just until the sun shines a little stronger. Until we learn together that the past cannot be made present and that the present is only here momentarily. Just until it slips back into the past again.

You know these winter winds will soon be settling.

Even the sun will shine, one day it will be spring.