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Day Six: On The Impact Of Words

The power of a few words is beyond the understanding of many, as one would often find it hard to believe that something we use so freely could bear so much power.

More often than not, We see these words flow with our lives, being the tool we use to communicate and express our feelings, both to ourselves and people around the world.

Yet it also seems that we often forget the power we yield, as ceaseless arguments and constant manipulation from those around us cast a dark shadow over the usage of these very words we unknowingly hold so dear.

One would be a hypocrite even to dare chastise another for misusing these words.

I have seen (but never truly experienced) a few simple words that are very commonly used and ones that we do not give even a second thought to, be arranged in a certain order and spoken in a certain tone to other people, and have watched it both make and break a person.

That’s the power words have. They can make you live a hundred years or kill you in a second.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Four: The Beauty In Black

What twisted fantasy might this be?
Might you be too blind to see?
I simply ought to throw you up a tree!
How dare you insult my precious ebony!
An idiot, is what I don thee!

One cannot see,
Without the pale hues of ebony.
One cannot truly be,
Without my dear black, can ye?
No Yin without Yang, my fellow, see!
Without this one cannot be.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Three: Thoughts On “Survival”

Whichever wise soul that stated that watching a documentary can range from a fun family show to an absolute questioning of self was wholly correct.

To harden one's heart is an expression I always knew of, yet seeing its reality simply plastered for all to see truly dawned its heaviness and severity on me.

But alas,
Even the fiercest predator has a pack to make.
I suppose
Nature simply works this way.

Yet losing one's empathy for a small exchange
Is not exactly a fair trade.
Especially when the animals that you watch through the screen are human beings.

It seems that 'to fight for survival' is not desirable for anyone, but the more one thinks of it, one observes that everyone on this planet is fighting for survival, only in varying degrees, various degrees of effort and in various contexts.

But then,
What exactly is it, to survive?
It is defined as a state of continued existence,
but for what purpose is that living?

If not that, then why do we survive?
Many continuously battle for a chance,
While most don't even try.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Two: All Grown Up Now

Oh what of that laughing child,
One which danced its days by,
One that sang of tales anew,
One that's fails meant it "grew".

And of the fun it had?
Gone with the wind, that.
What did it think it knew,
Was it leading an unknown crew?

I asked that laughing child one day,
Who smiled at me in dismay.
That one sentence, it said,
Might make you think it was dead.

"I grew up, as did you."

– Maya Desdemona

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Day One: On Leaving A Home


For it felt, as if
The windmills sensed my sorrow,
The trees faked a smile upon my departure,
And the mountains held me by their hands and begged me to stay.

But every bird must leave the nest it calls home.
The wind bid me adieu with a gentle breeze,
The grazing cattle nodded along in understanding,
And fields swayed along to the breeze blowing past them.

A certain beauty about one's home,
Is that even a ray of sunshine can make an unforgettable memory.

A small drizzle comes my way,
Upset that I was leaving but wishing me safe travels ahead.

A silent promise was made that day, to never forget,
My nest, my paradise, my home.

Wistful goodbyes are left on a joyful note,
So one may have happy travels ahead,
But even the sky was a paler shade of blue that day.

The plains and woodlands around me stretch far into the horizon,
Which leaves me wishing I had stayed around longer.

It was ironic, truly.
Everyone wishes to leave the nest they call home when they are in it, yet when it is, indeed, time to go, leaving is the single hardest thing to to.

I pass by a field of daffodils in full bloom,
However, they too seemed to be upset with my departure,
Their heads dipped low.

A small stream follows me beside the road,
A welcoming sight in a sea of concrete.

As I kept going further away from my paradise, the scenery was getting desperate.
The mountains looked misty and foreboding.
The wind started getting desperate.
A gentle drizzle turned into a storm.

Fog and mist started forming around tree plantations.
Soon, I entered unknown land,
And all the trees of fire that I had passed had soon faded into withering corpses of a land once known as a jungle.

Yet now, the mighty jungle that once ruled this foreign land had been reduced to a pile of cement and people.
I still live in this pile to this day,
With only the occasional glance back home.

– Maya Desdemona