The Actor

there is a city unknown,somewhere among the deepest bowels hidden within the seething masses of the growing populace.a city that wakes in the lap of its own fortune and dreams,and i am a question,standing here,naked of all thought,and i am left to speaking to myself at all times with my back to these living walls.i have seen the eyes that look back into mine without the freedom of curiosity and i regret venturing further into their lives for they are nothing but dust and mud walking on two feet while being blown away in the wind.i have walked with them,and i have understood what they mean in their glances.it is a natural effect of the moving world.to live,to die,to love,to murder,to hurt and to cry are the natural actions of all men and that is to say,to act.and act upon this stage of night and day,where everything that surrounds me,is the canvas upon which i stand and swell with pride of being the desired object of the world's attention.
it is actually with some strange gratitude,do i look to the people of this forlorn city,that i consider myself the greatest and unknown performer of the wild and deserted streets,where i can only hold my head high and where i sit quietly sometimes to try and speak my mind,when my turn is due,for i have learnt to wait for the silence to end first.i am not starved by the knowledge of any particular life that i could lead,for being an actor and a performer of the physical,i will speak my lines until the very end,for they are my only words,for as if each sound of the world is uttered in it's natural grace,for this world does not allow me to remain humble any longer,
for the mind is an individual with no rules and the becoming of an artist of perception.and with this perception does one see the soul,and it is not a beautiful creature.it is only upon this stage where i am reluctantly drawn to sketch this ugly portrait and hang it on these empty walls for the world to see.there are words that sing themselves free from the binds of my voice,and there are words to chain them for eternity.which do i choose and which do i forget?all these words are beautiful and terrible,and all are caught within a moment of this empty silence of the quiet streets.and still i see the moment to act.

this is a curious place.and all this curiosity towards the mundane workings of the human soul, a stray idea has caught itself upon my idle mind,the relief i have found in this simple idea,the actor's pose,is the beginning of life emerging from the depths of humane ignorance.i have carefully shed my dreams for they carry no significance anymore,for there are no techniques to this mastery of the art,but the simple application of the souls portrait upon the canvas of the world.it plays in every second of time,in every drop of laughter or tears,and we forget in time,that the life we were leading was different from yesterday.or time simply moves slowly or fast,almost at a pace of its own,and we seem to follow time wherever it may take us.the actor's pose,however,leaves me no freedom from this movement,but delivers my lines,almost as if it were on purpose,and the world seems so much smaller now that i can climb this moving mass of people and still remain invisible.
there is madness in living,and that is a vision of life that i lay witness to,and time itself has a way of imprinting itself upon my soul,so that i may never see my true reflection in the daily mirror of life.what i speak is soon forgotten,for the actor never repeats unless it is absolutely necessary,but would the world really listen to the rantings of an unspeakable soul?regardless of this,the actor will still never say his words ever again,for the silence will swallow every word that i have said and time will never look back upon the lost seconds.

there are also words that give me the illusion of that timeless immortality and sometimes even a glimpse into the mystical fields of pleasure,and i have also heard words that break the silence from within,and shatter the plain edge of this madness.for i have seen that when my mind is dull,the eye quickens and the vision is altogether sudden and weary,for i lay down to weep but my eyes are filled with joy,for i am still looking into the darkness and the emptiness,and i see the world watching me,from a silent crowd that is deafening to my heart,for the chaos is breaking and i cannot find the moment to begin,for they are longing to leave my side,having heard nothing of my story,for they are listening only to the wind and the leaves of their own garden of paradise,that lies in the dim future of the death.but apart from this comforting silence,for where else will i have room to speak?

I am the actor and the mask of many faces,for there exists no still water to look deep into my own,for i can be  many things and voices,even the theft of a smile,you would not push past me,for who gains but the foolishly excessive who but partake in another's share of sins and desires,and yet still greedily consume the essence of their life.it is not this pretense that darts around my heart and soul,but the simplicity of being something else,by no means of mere imitations and mockery but just,to simply be someone else.it is not a hard task but it is neither any cosmic revelation of life,where life does not exist in the tight bands of the universe,and where the reality of life is stripped from the bones of mankind's foundation.it  is sad ,for i have looked through the glass panels of the future,and i have seen the endless desert stretching beyond the understanding  of ultimate isolation and the loneliness of the soul.for it was i who spoke through the voices of many,where all but struggle to speak as one.

i have no dreams because of what i am.to be the eyes and voice,the writers of this simple play,for what else should i dream of,than welcoming the long awaited applause?
ambition is the last regard upon which i shall glance towards in this life,for the sake of the remembrance of humankind,the stepping stone upon the unknown paths yet granted of greatness or the greatest fall upon oneself.

death is the sweetest kiss of life,that brings mere mortals to shame in the shadow of their destiny.

The Sleeping

What are these words and sounds that light every moment of life?

What are these rivers and seas that remind us that life is still moving?

These pages we turn of our beloved books of comfort,

And the joys of living accompany the gazing wakened,

Time alone will lead us till the peaceful slumber,

Where the end will always remain a standing question,

But smile softly in their dreams,

For they know that they are asleep.

Come now, children of the age,

It will be soon time to lay down our heads,

For in these days of light and life,

That has become our truth in life,

For there will fall the darkest of nights,

And the stars will shine only upon themselves,

For we shall be eternally blind and yet awake to the night;

And we shall walk in dreams beyond,

And faraway where the darkness will find the light,

 For there is no question,

And no other answer,

For learn this today,

That we are brothers and sisters of the same tongues,

And may our lips remember while we hasten to stay awake,

For we shall remember the names of the sleeping.