held under the sharp edge of an ax,
under the vast shade of the tree,
before giving me the final blow,
that would silence nothing but my mundane being,
the traitor welters with his move,
his conscience playing the folly,
compulsively pushing him into realization,
this is the art of life,
as if it is magic,
you are given a chance,
at very odd times,
right when you are completely unprepared.
for me, to live,
for him, to regret and mend.
why has it to be stretched to that moment,
that moment when you are the weakest,
more weak than you have ever been all life,
emotionally that is.
can we ever explain it?
i think not,
i called it art.
truth is the last stone one shall stumble upon.
it is the only thing in life that gives you a choice whether or not to stumble upon.
and the fall following it would be in no way as to what you expect.
for though you fell stumbling over many things, many times all life but never upon truth. not until the last moment that i speak of.
P.S : haven’t blogged for a long long time…… i couldn’t regularly keep up with the friends’ blogs either….. Hello everyone….