All it takes
To ruin the peace of
One who does not know war
Is the greed of One individual.
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twenty Four: A Thought On The Human Mind
I suppose the reason I find the human mind the most rotten of all is only because it is the only one I know and understand.
There could be something way more malicious, but a human being would never know, for one can only truly communicate with other humans.
...
How terrifying.
– Maya Desdemona
Reincarnation
What would reincarnation feel like?
Would I be glad for another chance?
Or would I miss my previous life?
Would it be a new beginning?
Or would it be another series of regrets?
I hope that I never have to know.
– Arsh
Untamed
A mad descent into darkness,
Has always fit her more properly than,
The cruel trappings of society
Have ever done.
– Arsh
Day Twenty Three: A Lake
I passed by a small lake,
Devoid of even a single ripple,
And saw it reflect everything beside it with perfect clarity.
To me, it seemed more truthful than
Any mirror I had ever gazed upon.
I saw it for but a fleeting moment,
But that simple glance showed me an entire world around it.
– Maya Desdemona
Greek Tragedies
Icarus may have fallen,
But he experienced the feeling of
Freedom from a tyrant,
And the sensation of flying free.
What more could he have asked for?
Orpheus may have turned back
To look for Eurydice,
But she never doubted his love for her,
Not when he bargained with Hades for her life.
What more could she have asked for?
Prometheus may have been punished
With eternal torment,
But his name lives forevermore
As the forerunner of human civilisation.
What more could he have asked for?
These long gone times may have made
These myths into tragedies,
But those in the myths
Have triumphed in their own way,
So what more could they have asked for?
– Arsh
Day Fifteen: Matchsticks Light A Thought
A most curious thought came upon me today.
Such a mundane action
Of lighting a candle
Is hardly what one would call
'Thought provoking'.
Yet on this day,
In this very hour,
I suppose I could blame the environment
For this unexpected conflict,
I find myself sympathising with a Matchstick.
One of many,
A most unremarkable one, at that,
That so happened to expire in my hand.
Once it served its purpose,
It was simply blown out without a second glance.
But today,
The mind lingered on an observation.
That matchstick continued to burn,
Albeit a dying ember now.
Yet all it took was a small tremor,
A flick of my wrist,
For that small light
To be snatched away.
How similar material objects are to their creators.
– Maya Desdemona
On plucking flowers
When you pluck a feather
From a bird, It feels pain.
When you pluck a flower
From a plant, Does it scream?
Does it beg for mercy,
Or cry for it's loss?
Does it feel anything for it,
Or is the plant glad to see it gone?
– Arsh
Day Thirteen: Lorraine
Lorena, or sweet Lorraine,
As good-natured as the name portrays,
Victorious as Laurus nobilis' many triumphs claim.
Yet I do not know anyone with this name.
A careful balance between Darkness and Light,
She is indeed 'crowned with laurels' and sight,
Not only easy-going and bright,
But also forever wondering with delight.
Untouched by blight,
She is morally right,
For her ideals she will fight,
But don't worry, she won't bite.
A famous army,
Is what her name means,
Who is she?
My imaginings only take me so far.
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twelve: On The Night (Pt. 1)
I can never understand how
A person can associate the night,
With its peaceful presence,
The numerous stars,
The ever changing sky
And the lonesome moon with evil.
Maybe it is because the night holds us when we are most vulnerable,
And sees us for who we are.
It is only the Night which can see all our sins, and all our misgivings.
It is only in the Night, where the stoned face sheds a tear.
It is only in the Night, where the most paranoid shuts one eye.
It is only the Night which shadows the wrongdoings of the human race.
It is only the Night which shadows a predator from its prey.
It is only the Night which can see our dreams and nightmares, a myriad of emotions Stemming from the plagues of the mind and the soul.
Maybe it is simply because, the Night always sees.
No, let us put this argument in perspective.
It is forced to see what the day does not.
It does not wish to cover the crimes of both man and not.
It cannot reach out to console those who find solace in it.
The moon is merely the sun in disguise,
Miserably looking upon what the man does behind its back.
– Maya Desdemona
Luminousis 