I close my eyes to shatter the heinous darkness and travel to the world of light within me.

And indeed the darkness would follow me until the burnished light through its lustre would choke the shadows that have been haunting me for long to nothingness. Look at the faces of life and you'll find it corrugated, like the old deep ocean that lied numb and paralysed and had now been commoved and stunned. Tha sagas of the past hushes silently on the strata like the large galleons sailing softly on the agitated sea.The disconcord itself is fighting to survive the stillness it has enjoyed so long. Rows of flapping prayer flags lie above, torn and tatttered into shreds,  the remnants of my forgotten past.

And I am done. I disgorge the battle of the storm raging inside me despair and disdain, so much that it engulfes me each day more. Resurrection and reincarnation are way ahead to be even sought in the dreams. I am lost and yet on a journey to rediscover myself. I strive insanely to commemorate who I was, but I end up drawing a blank. No longer should I stay to witness the ramification of the withered souls and no more should I ratify the silent immoral desolation.

The stuffiness of old parochial rituals, of closed doors and windows doesn't bother me anymore. I have debunked the doors of my heart only to shut it close again. I have now found the roads of euphemism to express the burried verity that never tried to reach for words. Obviate from both the cloying sweet and the bitter grub. Both are brokers of demolition of true ethicism. I languish for naivety like a prisoner who has been remanded to donjon for years, pines for freedom. And i swear vengeance on the boisterous stormclouds that swirled black and grey over me and denied my acquittal. I swear to be the personification of the force that would epitomize life in its unfeigned panorama. I swear that the timbre of the paean and not the parody would echo as far as vision strings out, and would demolish the ramparts of both nihilism and hedonism. And thus would return the grandiloquent genre of spirit like the homecoming of the vividness of palette of a painter who, born again from his ashes, paints his rebirth.

And these are not just pipe dreams born out of vanity, nor are they listless and wretched. The exquisite hillocks of ancient faith are ascending slowly from these vast oceans of past annulments. You can hear them sighing and snapping in the vehement winds, long before you can see them. And here commences this consecrated journey to embrace heyday. And soon, they will be exempted from their solitary moorings and delivered into the silent eternity.