The Perspective of a Writer
“Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.”
Time has meticulously sifted through all the ages; selecting shimmering souls hidden beneath the dull and cold personified rocks. These gems are the ones who see past the raucous appeals of life and look at the hidden, yet obvious beauties within it. The subtle attractions of the world. We notice it; they do not.
We refuse to be labelled as residents of this world because it has become consumed with trivial pursuits and false mirages. It is not our home, merely a location we gather what we need and continue with our lives while they shackle themselves with hollowness.
Sparrows swiftly spiral through the air and leave trails of paint behind on the heaven’s canvas. They chatter and chirp insistently – hidden beneath the swaying emerald leafs. They seem to quiet down in a state of awe as their gaze fall to the sweethearts below and curiosity piques their interest as subtle gestures reveal more than words ever could. The fiery orbit gently caresses the juvenile girl’s cheek as the breeze tugs at her snowy strands of hair. Their murmurs of love and promises seem to be hidden from the world with the help of the waterfall’s soft rush. It reveals its natural glimmer as it cascades from atop the colossal mountain. A battle between power and beauty harmonises as it plummets to the earth below; creating a bellowing sound, which echoes throughout the stillness of the forest.
We experience such music – lined with the whimsical qualities the world has to offer. It is within every heartbeat, murmur and breathe.
Far off a vicious screech echoes throughout the metallic world. The seizing of engines send the graceful scattering and scurrying off to safety. Metal slams on as doors are flung closed. There are no colourful notes throughout the streets – only protest, vulgarities and screams. Branches creak as they feel the pain surging throughout their connections to this earth. The banging of insults turn souls into hallow shells. Nowhere are whispers of love found. Only noise. Nowhere are the unspoken gestures seen. Only shouting. It’s as if an invisible inferno has engulfed the world and it is only spreading carnage everywhere.
The world has offered us soothing melodies, yet they choose to be ruled by deafening screeches and screams.
Moments in this life are appreciated according to the amount of love showered into them. We tend to experience the joy of life by being selfless – helping those who need it with a warm heart and a nurturing smile. We spend enough time on our hobbies without being selfish and inconsiderate.
They, however, take pleasure in being glutinous and ungrateful. They spin their little webs of lies and entangle all those who are unaware of reality. They do things solely for themselves and no other soul beside them may share in their wealth. Everything roots from selfishness and seeds planted in other’s minds are of a vile kind. They seem to be the offspring of the cunning Iago himself.
The world offered us numerous vistas to spend our eternity while sharing our joys with others, yet they decided against it and started a dictatorship where pleasure rules.
Our bodies are ruled by a fiery force which contains a divine power. It fills up our vessels to the brim and thrives when offered joy. A friend’s smile that shows he believes in you and that all prejudice is in your favour. A hug filled with love and all the glue you could ever need to piece yourself together. The tender touch of a loved one which allows your soul to regenerate. This essence drives us to experience all this life – and the next – has to offer. We are free spirited and roam this earth like the stallions do the meadows; the eagle does the sky and the dolphins do the ocean. Free from all fear and limitations. We do not care for the glittering jewels or other trivial materials. We capture each grain of time and convert it to a moment spent with a smile on our faces and a fire within our souls.
They seem to chase materials and shallow values. Everything is measured by its glitter and shimmers which means the world to them, yet it doesn’t have the slightest importance to us. An icy and unemotional grip seems to clutch them by their collars – leading them astray like the fools they are. They allow a yellowish metal to rule them with an iron fist while their essence gradually drifts away exactly like James Kirkup mentioned. They become hallow and regret that which has already occurred. Sometimes they seal themselves within a world of gambling. A world of debt and depression engulfs them with vigour, because they believe it’s an escape from that which is already a disease.
The world offers an abundance of nutrition in the form of mesmerising moments, yet they overindulge themselves with regret which allows all happiness to be swallowed by an unending void.
Strokes of a paintbrush ignite numerous ideas within our minds. An alluring woman with a vengeful yet saddened appearance stands before us. She is surrounded by the elements – a breeze tugging at her hair, embers burning within her, ground quakes beneath her featherlike feet and water seems to trickle down her arms. We admire the sheer beauty of this figure and allow her beauty to inspire us for times to come.
They gaze upon screens and see numerous numbers. It is what they wish to see – digits – yet they are unsatisfied. The black and white palette seems to sate them, but they will never experience the beauty of creative work. Words flowing from the page into the heart of the readers; scenes painted with a thousand words and strokes introducing every single colour comprehendible to the eye.
A world painted, crafted and written with such beauty is right before our eyes, yet they willingly accept the dull chains icy digits have bestowed upon them.
A soft hand, paired with a subtle movement, caresses my cheek. It is filled with promise and passion; emotionally, intellectually and physically stimulating me within each moment. I can feel his breathe upon my neck, smell his musky cologne in the air, see the curved smile on his lips along with the promise in his eyes. When we kiss I can taste the sensation of passion on his lips. We seem to be weightless under the dancing covers as we whisper raucous vows to each other’s souls.
They seem to allow many to pass through them like ghosts – their soulless grips taking a piece as they depart. There is not one uttering of love or compassion. They only yearn for the physical satisfaction that is free from whispering vows and subtle notions filled with love. The touch of rough and demanding hands seem to dominate the body of another, an ill scent of lust hangs in the room like decay in a morgue and before them they see an object of foolery and superficial pleasure.
The world offers us our long searched for other half, yet they deem themselves selfishly worthy of many and all.
Time has meticulously sifted through the countless amounts of souls on this earth; the result left us with a world run by shackled, drained and empty souls. The world has always offered unique beauties and experiences, but we’ve never truly been part of its surface, because all residents dash after something trivial. We tend to feel at home with its core – where all its wondrous beauties originate from.
It is true, those of us who seek music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world, but that’s their world. Ours is different and that is where we will reside – far from the trivial pursuits the residents created.
We will never feel at home on this plane, even though it is our houses – it is not our homes. Nor are they our friends.